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When I am frightened, Bon Iver sings me a soothing song about the sandy soil near the shore of Lake Michigan, the sound of the cattle lowing in the meadow beside the creek, and the wanderings of his great uncle Wyatt who traveled to the Dakotas to take up a homesteading claim. He squeezes my hand and tells me everything will be all right. And I believe him.
Posted on May 31, 2012 via Bon Iver Erotic Stories with 116 notes
Source: boniverotica
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still subsisting off of nothing but coffee,
trying to work my way up to drinking it black
so my poems read,
“subsisting off of nothing but black coffee”
or
“subsisting off of nothing but coffee. black.”and not be lying.
like fledgling birds
just learning to
fly.
