I’m afraid
of what i will write
if you mend me.
If I start believing
all the nice things
your mouth empties
onto my skin.
What poems
will spill out of a body
filled to the breath
with you.
How can i
remember anything
about wars
or women
when moments with you
are full
and ripe?
hours entirely swallowed
watching your mouth move?
even this poem
is about your voice
and the cities it leaves trembling
inside my stomach.
What will be of poetry
if now,
watching you sleep
is the closest i
ever come
to dying?

Warsan Shire, Day 22 (via llvnos)

All of this.

(via thethreeamrants)