Ashe Vernon's Blog, page 2
December 5, 2018
latenightcornerstore:
Hey all for the record you can find me @lackadazed on Twitter and insta when...
Hey all for the record you can find me @lackadazed on Twitter and insta when this site inevitably runs itself into the groundAlso I’m still posting poetry on my patreon
December 4, 2018
Hey all for the record you can find me @lackadazed on Twitter and insta when this site inevitably...
November 9, 2018
latenightcornerstore:
November is knee-deep in old love.
...
November is knee-deep in old love.
And the problem with stagnant water
is how it putrefies, how a clean thing
can go heavy, how it stinks.
Cold presses on the mattress and
heartache crawls out from under it,
dripping hot honey into your open mouth until you drown like a turkey in the rain.
(You are not the hero of this story.
Even if it’s yours.)
You watch
the people you love
love each other
and feel like a child,
face pressed against
a store window,
begging for something
you are not allowed
to have.
NOVEMBER IS AN ABANDONED BEE HIVE, by Ashe Vernon
latenightcornerstore:
November is knee-deep in old love.
And the problem with stagnant water
is how...
November is knee-deep in old love.
And the problem with stagnant water
is how it putrefies, how a clean thing
can go heavy, how it stinks.
Cold presses on the mattress and
heartache crawls out from under it,
dripping hot honey into your open mouth until you drown like a turkey in the rain.
(You are not the hero of this story.
Even if it’s yours.)
You watch
the people you love
love each other
and feel like a child,
face pressed against
a store window,
begging for something
you are not allowed
to have.
NOVEMBER IS AN ABANDONED BEE HIVE, by Ashe Vernon
latenightcornerstore:
November is knee-deep in old love.And the problem with stagnant water is how...
November is knee-deep in old love.
And the problem with stagnant water
is how it putrefies, how a clean thing
can go heavy, how it stinks.
Cold presses on the mattress and
heartache crawls out from under it,
dripping hot honey into your open mouth until you drown like a turkey in the rain.
(You are not the hero of this story.
Even if it’s yours.)
You watch
the people you love
love each other
and feel like a child,
face pressed against
a store window,
begging for something
you are not allowed
to have.
NOVEMBER IS AN ABANDONED BEE HIVE, by Ashe Vernon
November 8, 2018
November is knee-deep in old love.And the problem with st...
November is knee-deep in old love.
And the problem with stagnant water
is how it putrefies, how a clean thing
can go heavy, how it stinks.
Cold presses on the mattress and
heartache crawls out from under it,
dripping hot honey into your open mouth until you drown like a turkey in the rain.
(You are not the hero of this story.
Even if it’s yours.)
You watch
the people you love
love each other
and feel like a child,
face pressed against
a store window,
begging for something
you are not allowed
to have.
NOVEMBER IS AN ABANDONED BEE HIVE, by Ashe Vernon
November is knee-deep in old love.And the problem with stagnant water is how it putrefies, how a...
November is knee-deep in old love.
And the problem with stagnant water
is how it putrefies, how a clean thing
can go heavy, how it stinks.
Cold presses on the mattress and
heartache crawls out from under it,
dripping hot honey into your open mouth until you drown like a turkey in the rain.
(You are not the hero of this story.
Even if it’s yours.)
You watch
the people you love
love each other
and feel like a child,
face pressed against
a store window,
begging for something
you are not allowed
to have.
NOVEMBER IS AN ABANDONED BEE HIVE, by Ashe Vernon
June 21, 2018
"Under your hands, I bloom into ache–
and heat and want. And heavy breath
and mouth and mouth and..."
and heat and want. And heavy breath
and mouth and mouth and mouth.
I melt,
all syrup on your fingers. You could
almost spin me into candy floss, except for
this weight on your hips:
this body
and how it buckles
for your body.”
- SPUN SUGAR by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
June 20, 2018
"I know that, in theory, love is supposed to be soft.
I have felt soft love, before, but—
for the..."
I have felt soft love, before, but—
for the last two months, love has been
sledgehammer to my nervous system.
It keeps taking me out at the knees.
For the thousandth time, I remind myself
that want and need are two different things.
I remind myself,
to be needed is not love.
I kiss like a seed trying desperately
to put down roots in wet soil.
I keep trying to turn wild animal.
He keeps trying to make a home from my skeleton.
Neither of us is doing this the right way.
In spite of that, we keep crashing our bodies together:
expecting someone to catch us even when we’ve become
falling anvils,
cartoon pianos,
sticks of live dynamite.
I’ve done this song and dance before. I already know
I will let him turn me shelter
even while my roof is leaking.
I’ll put my mouth everywhere that hurts.
I’m good at it: unearthing my foundations
and giving them to other people.
It’s no wonder I have trouble standing on my own two feet.
It’s no wonder I’m so prone to slide downhill.
Even then, I still believe in a love that will meet me
at my own altar.
A love that patches the holes in the ceiling.
A love who comes, heart in hand,
and means it.”
- UNTIL THEN by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
June 19, 2018
"It seems like every time I sit down to write about our bodies,
I spin us something holy: our moans..."
I spin us something holy: our moans turned scripture,
our mouths flooded with communion wine.
I want to take you by the hips and build our gospel.
Except, I wonder if I’m afraid to name you
without the metaphor: like the honeysuckle holy of you
would burn my tongue if I took it in vain. See,
you leave sunspots on my vision.
Your hands are softer than any altar and twice as sacred.
Your mouth keeps me up at night,
even when you are two cities over. Even
when it’s been days without you in my bed. Even then.
See, there is heat. And there is friction.
And then there’s us, and we are something else, altogether.
Some kind of burning. But you have never been
all-consuming. You have never been Almighty.
You are a pair of hands I never want to let go of,
and maybe that’s its own religion, but maybe it isn’t.
Maybe, I can still come to you on hands and knees,
and it doesn’t have to be a kind of praying. It could be
my mouth and your thighs, and the way you moaning my name
splits the quiet.
Maybe we don’t have to be a pocket of heaven to be
just as beautiful. So, if I become more choir than angel,
if you become more tenement than temple,
if we stop trying so hard to be so sacred,
we might find that heaven was never as gorgeous
as we are.”
- SACRILEGE REDUX by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
