LOVE....
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Posted:Jan 2, 2017 9:15 pm
Last Updated:Jan 6, 2017 8:32 am 13913 Views
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LOVE...
someone asked me to describe love, and all i could think about was the way his lips curled into a smile when i said something childish. she asked me to tell her what love felt like, and all i could think about was his arms around me, holding me tight, making sure i didn’t fall apart. she asked me what being in love was like, and all i could think about was sitting in the car listening to him sing and coming to the conclusion that i wanted to hear his voice for the rest of my life. she asked me what love was, and i told her that it was the way your heart yearns for a person, the way your body jumps at the mere thought of the person, the way your eyes shine as you see the person walking towards you. i told her that love is the most addictive drug there is, but that the high is worth it.
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3
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Profane...
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Posted:Dec 30, 2016 5:35 am
Last Updated:Jun 3, 2023 2:25 am 14242 Views
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Profane....
The first time he calls you holy
you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt.
The second time, you
moan gospel around his fingers.
He has always surprised
you into surprising yourself.
He’s an angel hiding his halo
behind his back, and
nothing has ever felt so filthy
as plucking the wings from his shoulders -
undressing his softness
one feather at a time.
God, if you’re out there,
if you’re listening,
he fucks like a seraphim,
and there’s no part of scripture
that ever prepared me for his hands -
hands that map a communion
in the cradle of your hips.
Hands that kiss hymns up your sides.
He confesses how long he’s looked
for a place to worship and,
oh,
you put him on his knees.
When he sinks to the floor and moans
like he can’t help himself, you wonder
if the other angels fell so sweetly.
He says his prayers between your thighs,
and you dig your heels into the base of his spine
until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue.
You will ruin him and he will thank you;
he will say, please.
No damnation ever looked as cozy as this,
but you fit over his hips like they
were made for you.
On top of him, you are an ancient god
that only he remembers, and he
offers up his skin.
And you take it.
Once you’ve taught him how to hold
your throat in one hand
and your heart in the other,
you will have forgotten every other word
except his name.
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5
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Mythology...
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Posted:Dec 29, 2016 9:49 am
Last Updated:Feb 20, 2021 4:04 am 13282 Views
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Mythology...
She holds her hair up with only two chopsticks and a bobby pin.
Think Atlas. Think shoulders.
When your sadness starts to feast,
she carries the light down from the
mountain and hands it to you,
tells you to set it on fire.
Think Prometheus. Think savior.
On Sunday, she steps out of the shower and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than the way she walks towards you with a towel on her head, water clinging to her like there is
nowhere else it would rather be.
Think Aphrodite. Think sea foam.
You love her like mythology.
You love her like the impossible stories of Gods and monsters.
When she sings, think fairies.
Think mermaids. Think hymns.
She is the face of the river that
Narcissus fell in love with,
confusing hers for his own.
She is Medusa’s fury,
Athena’s strength,
Achelois’ healing.
You are kissing her in a crowded
restaurant and it feels like praying.
You are watching her instead of the
meteor shower
and you don’t even notice.
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3
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Years Later...
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Posted:Dec 27, 2016 9:14 am
Last Updated:Nov 1, 2021 5:17 am 13332 Views
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Years Later....
the bed at the center of it all–
the way you never felt like a stranger,
instead
like someone i had forgotten, like
a part of myself i had dropped in some
distant city, delivered
back to my door.
our story,
a pipe-dream in three parts–
my bedroom the place where everything
came together and the place where everything
fell apart. there are still echoes of us
in the bed-frame, and the closet, and the drywall.
i keep your dignity on the bookshelf;
i figure you’ll come looking for it, eventually.
it always comes back
to here.
the only sanctuary i have ever known
still smells like you, sometimes.
just when i think i’ve gotten you
out of the pillowcases,
i find your cologne on the walls.
i remember when you came apart in pieces
on the carpet, and i will never be able
to wash the heartbreak out of the floors.
someday,
i will leave our story behind, in this city.
this apartment will be barren and then
it will be full of other people.
none of them will know our names;
they will track over our history like
rerecording over old video tapes.
i won’t miss you.
or i will miss you,
but i’ll have bought a new mattress:
one that doesn’t know how you twitch in your sleep.
i will have a new bedroom, and the floor boards
won’t know how to moan your name
like i do.
and we’ll fall asleep
in different beds,
in different cities.
and if i wake up from dreams
that still taste like you,
i can take comfort in the fact
that even though you have kissed me,
you have never kissed me
here."
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1
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Best Friend With Benefits
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Posted:Dec 26, 2016 7:37 am
Last Updated:Feb 22, 2021 4:25 am 13338 Views
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"i write to you like a lover
but we have never been in love.
three am and i’m sending snapshots
of my heart because you are the only one
who isn’t afraid to look at them.
sometimes we kiss for no reason.
sometimes i go crawling into your bed
because i need a space to belong to
and your hands are steadier
than mine have ever been.
sometimes you get lost
and you wind up on my doorstep,
but it’s okay–
you’re always welcome here.
i tell you all the secrets i’ve been
keeping from myself while you
peel apart at the edges and admit
to all the soft things you pretend
you don’t know how to feel.
we understand each other, here.
my sheets know all our demons.
we don’t touch like that in the daytime,
but at night you are all hands
and i am all teeth
and we are a double-hinged door
slammed open by the wind.
we work that way.
it’s easy as breathing:
two kindred souls wrapped up together,
settled in for the night,
sharing the same skin for a little while."
— Best Friends With Benefits
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2
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Finally....
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Posted:Dec 23, 2016 6:00 am
Last Updated:Nov 20, 2019 5:08 am 13034 Views
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Finally...
“She was darkness and he was darkness and there had never been anything before this time, only darkness and his lips upon her. She tried to speak and his mouth was over hers again. Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never known; joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast.”
― Margaret Mitchell
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0
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The Year In Review
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Posted:Dec 19, 2016 6:10 am
Last Updated:Dec 31, 2021 4:14 am 13567 Views
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The Year In Review....
"Okay, so–that happened.
that could have gone better.
(it could have gone worse.)
you made it around the sun another time, so–
that’s something.
of course, home feels a little less like home,
and alone feels a little more like suffocating.
that’s okay. you’re gonna learn
to breathe through it, someday.
maybe next year.
but the good news is,
you cried a lot, this year.
keep doing that.
it’s one of the most important things
you know how to do, even though
you think you’re bad at it.
you made it through this
sideways hiccup of a year,
even though it waltzed you out the door
with two left feet. you stumbled–
but you kept going.
and that’s something.
so, I'll drink to us.
I'll dedicate this next song to survival.
we’ve got our hearts in our teeth
instead of roses,
but if there’s time for one last dance,
by god, let's make it a tango."
— THE YEAR IN REVIEW
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3
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Locked Door
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Posted:Dec 16, 2016 9:31 am
Last Updated:Oct 28, 2020 4:14 am 13084 Views
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Locked Door...
“Now do you understand why I'm interested in you? You're a locked door, sweetheart. You give no one a key and you never answer the door when anyone knocks...Ah, but sometimes, sometimes I get a peek through the keyhole and what I find there...It's like glimpsing you as you're stripping. Underneath all of that darkness is something hungry, something desperate, something, oh, so deliciously vulnerable.”
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0
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The Art
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Posted:Dec 14, 2016 10:47 am
Last Updated:Feb 24, 2024 1:08 am 13492 Views
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The Art...
“Fucking is an art. The mere fact of introducing the cock in the cunt and moving it in and out until the ejaculation of spunk is not art. True, it is fucking, but the difference between that way of doing it and the way it should be done, is like the difference between a 's first drawing and a picture by the world's greatest painter.”
― Anaïs Nin,
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When does real love begin?
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Posted:Dec 13, 2016 5:58 am
Last Updated:Feb 10, 2021 4:18 am 14113 Views
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When does real love begin?
At first it was a fire, eclipses, short circuits, lightning and fireworks; the incense, hammocks, drugs, wines, perfumes; then spasm and honey, fever, fatigue, warmth, currents of liquid fire, feast and orgies; then dreams, visions, candlelight, flowers, pictures; then images out of the past, fairy tales, stories, then pages out of a book, a poem; then laughter, then chastity.
At what moment does the knife wound sink so deep that the flesh begins to weep with love?
At first power, power, then the wound, and love, and love and fears, and the loss of the self, and the gift, and slavery. At first I ruled, loved less; then more, then slavery. Slavery to his image, his odor, the craving, the hunger, the thirst, the obsession.”
― Anaïs Nin, Fire: From A Journal of Love
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