Topaz Winters Quotes

we are holding hands in the barrel of a gun. they pull the trigger, but when she is kissing me only cherry blossoms come out.

The wildness of this life grows & grows & continues to astound me with how large it is, how little I know of it.

there is no story where two girls get a happy ending. she tells me fine, we’ll write it ourselves

Sixteen and in love when our existence is taboo and still I choose you. I choose you.

Ask any woman & she’ll tell you why Eve bit into that apple. Why she chose the universe instead of you.

In the story that matters, we’re sixteen and flames are the only centre of gravity. In the story that matters, we choose each other anyway. We choose each other, curse after curse, night after night, fire after fire. Sixteen and in love when our existence is taboo and still I choose you. I choose you. Sixteen and changelings, and I choose you in broken wings, I choose you in burning stakes, magnet eyes, infinite amnesia, I choose you out of untried hearts and endless ashes, I choose you. I choose you. In the story that matters, in the story that exists, two girls are running, the fires forget how to burn, and always, always, I choose you

Anything is yours if you swallow it

She loves me this many temples. She loves me this much hellfire.

Look at her. Tell me that girl is not a song of burning. Look at her and tell me her eyes are not a housefire waiting to happen.

1 prefer scotch to Irish. And I plough my own garden. There is this music in the mud, mulching the pains of weed. They need to grow have you ever wondered? My mother was born in a hut, my daughter in a hospital what a transition, there was a time I was under the bridge, with green shoots of wars flandering, my head ringing. And after that, there is woman, a woman with topaz eyes died in the winter of the sun, some dull evening. made love with her soul, now in my blood she lives what a cost. Under certain smiles and growing madness... I have trouble to sleep I have chose to study Latin, and practice the virtues of stoicism and the principle of Moses.

Hikes in the winter forest, so surreal—Emerson knew about them. He had seen the woods at twilight. “Never was a more brilliant show of colored landscape than yesterday afternoon; incredibly excellent topaz and ruby at four o’clock; cold and shabby at six.

If that mouth is not holy then God never spoke. How much skin, how much yearning exists here, in this space where nothing is less than anything else?

You've got the drivers license and I've got the poetry, so isn't this enough for superstition?

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz or the arrow of carnations … I love you as certain dark things are to be loved … in secret … between the shadow and the soul.

I pick up the phone mostly because it's raining, & my father says how come you never call me anymore & I say how come you never take your meds.

So all I remember of my ancestry is what fits on the back of a postcard.

When I swallow the sea he wakes up gasping & I am sure of nothing except that I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm still sorry.

There has to be a word for the kind of loneliness shared by two, a loneliness big enough to rechristen itself as lineage.

The unmooring of the wrists is absolutely out of the question: I've learned all I need to know about stillness. In these bird bones, there is no noise anymore that couldn't pass for music.

My philosophy professor says the thing Plato called math, Cicero called music, the way my father knew my name for 20 years before I was born but to this day must still be reminded of my birthday.

We didn't pray but we drank our coffee out of the same mugs every morning, which we decided was almost the same thing.

I want to know what the world knows & I can't tell if that's because I'm a poet or because I have hands.