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all this bad blood here wont you let it dry 




i will not promise you a legend,
(as if a person could promise such),
but i will tell you this:
that my love for you is echoes,

that my hands in yours are swallows
singing for the light that blew in bravely
over the still morning and the still mourning
trenches of the somme.

when you answer the prayer of my aching ribs
by pressing your mouth to my skin,
i hope upon hope that the prayers of forebearers,
not selfish like mine, are answered too;

a soldier on his knees at the banks of the vistula
a mother to her waist in water in the ganges
a fighter on the rue saint-jacques with a cross at her chest and
a gun at the heel of her hand.

my vertebrae are stones collected at the edge of the caldera;
the water laps and washes me clean.
you kiss me and say you cannot remember eyes as heavy as mine,
and i promise you you’re wrong.

i cannot- will not- will us into legend,
but i will promise you history.

” — (maybe someday we too
will be echoes of something new.)




eccojammer:

me when it’s nice

eccojammer:

me when it’s nice




zilleniose:

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the 104th training squad wasn’t allowed to haze new recruits after that