space :: jessica johnson
I want space,
not to be filled,
but felt.
Smelled,
tasted on the fog
tinged sky.
I want trembling thighs,
yearning,
desire,
satiation followed by
silence.
I want the sound
of gravel under my feet,
to know the precise meter
of the hummingbird’s wing.
I want to know the price
of pausing to listen
as the birds wake,
or the day tucks in
to the cover of night
and be able to afford it.
I want gratitude for all I have
to hold me,
like my mother once did
when i was small,
and fell
skinning my knee.
I want to know
I have loved you all
well enough.
Share this post