🧘‍♀️ ASMR Poetry Reading (SFW)

Transcript

Your breath flowing down over my body as cloud shadows passing across the plains, eyelashes blinking against my chest, moths fluttering in the moonlight, heart beating against my ribs, waves pounding on the shore, is it really a cliché to say you're my whole world? Why do I love to write your name in the sand so much? Maybe I'm boasting to the sky and the sea that I have you, taunting them because they want you like I do, and they try to take you, the sky with its wind and the sea with its waves, but all they do is make space for me to write your name again tomorrow.

With my tongue, I move your nipple in circles like a water lily on the pond. If I admit that your eyes are not the halos of dandelion clocks, just irises, that the curve of your lower back is not cliffed by a great stony river, only a spine, and the goosebumps on your body when my voice touches you are not raindrops on the pond, just skin. If I admit these things, will you admit that you're made the way I see the world, one thousand times more beautiful?

Burst above me like finches scattering from the tree, burst over me like a gust of wind over showering leaves, burst like a sudden rain, like a sun-ripened grape, like a piñata, like a firework, burst like bubblegum, like a champagne cork, like popcorn, like a falling star, like a heart so full it bleeds love. When you send me a picture of your body in new lingerie, I feel what a florist must feel when the first flowers of spring arrive. Why doubt me when I describe your beauty? Of course you can't see it any more than you can watch yourself blink, any more than you can taste your own tongue.

But come, hold my hand, allow my words to take you outside of yourself, then turn and tell yourself what you see, tell yourself how true your beauty is, and how much you're loved. I know I'm not your first love, but I am the love who will swallow all your other loves, spit them out like cherry pips, and kiss you hard with the blood still on my lips. When you're so far away, what beauty is there in the world? I see the trees are pulled out their hair at the thought of another season without you.

I see an arrowhead of albatrosses flying across the eastern horizon. I look for forms in the clouds, but the sky is as shapeless as the pillow beside me. But the moment I hear your voice, water gathers in my eye and everything changes.

I realize that the clouds are the beard we dream on together, and the birds are returning home with news of you, and the trees have only shed their leaves to decorate themselves for you with cherry blossoms. Sometimes it's only by looking through tears that we see the real beauty in the world. Fight me for your body, but only to show me how much you want to lose it.

It's not when you say I love you that I know you love me. It's when you say last goodnight for the third time. Falling asleep, I feel my body pulled to yours.

Your beauty is so great that your gravity bends me around you, wrapping you in the soft atmosphere of my love. Again, is it a cliché to say you are my whole world? Bring me the unlit candle of your body, I'm burning to pass this flame to you.

I tried to keep you a secret, but they noticed how you brought me to life, as if spring bloomed on my body and placed cherry blossoms all over my cheeks. I pretended nothing had changed, but they sensed your fragrance on my body like I wore the oil of one thousand orange flowers. I tried to keep our love quiet, but I couldn't disguise the pulse in my veins, going so hard and fast that it was like there were two hearts beating inside of me.

Your eyelashes are the softest ferns gathered around the flower of your eye, a bouquet you present to the world with every blink. Will the wispy trails of angels flying ever become just ordinary clouds again? Will the falling feather down from angels passing overhead ever become just plain snow? Will the ruffling of your hair from the beating of angels' wings ever become just the passing of a chilly wind?

If we ever begin to forget the magic of our love, if our hearts ever begin to grow cold, I'll write to the angels of poetry, summon them to fly to us and wrap us in their wings. Come and lie with me under the cover of poetry. Come and get in touch.