Photography by Maria Kazvan | Website | Etsy Shop | Facebook | Flickr
Rebuilding After the Apocalypse
We lift our eyes to the sun & rise
from the dirt with dust
at our fingertips
like a trigger.
I thumb at your lips & you settle
like this isn’t a wasteland but a privilege.
Like this isn’t a graveyard
isn’t an underworld
just an undersky / undercloud / understar.
The whole of space is at the base
of your neck pooled
into your collarbone.
I kiss it
& galaxies spill down
the afterthoughts of a dying eternity.
If this is the desert we inherited
then I will become the last
grains of sand falling
through the hourglass.