Your Body is an Atlas

nextstoprequested:

Your feet are weary, travel no more.
-
The wide swiveling hips of conveyor belts,
gripping the baggage you felt you needed in order to come to me.
An offering of sorts,
I would have taken you in with empty palms,
and kissed the tears away from your full eyes
until every closed door and sealed window blurred before you.
I know your body is an atlas
and every scar a careless stamp,
a smeared date written with the lips of a past lover.
You’ve traveled far, met dead ends, yet here you are
travel no more love.
-
Day 12/30


Aug 10th 2012 · 39 notes
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