Tag Archives: breasts

master key…

 

we don’t cross the line…

 

the line crosses us
. . . the line crosses us.

hooked…

hooked

almost as if…

Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal.

– Russell Lynes –

almost as if

he said…

Fuck, I want you wet.

set fire to the rain

dickens says (and so do i)…

You are part of my existence, part of my self. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since — on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets.

amazing grace
You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to be displaced by your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be… to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil.

set fire to the rain

we say…

the moon's reflection

This is what we say:

There is nothing special about the way you make me feel.
A thousand thoughts have done it before.
There is nothing unique about the way you touch me.
A million dreams have done the same.

At least
this is what we say.

This is what we say
when the clouds shield moon from stars
and her from him
or him from her.

This is what we say
and we’re not wrong
as long as we say we’re right.

And as long as we stay in the clouds
we stay blind.
No matter the thousands or millions before
or after
we stay and never move.

This is what we forget:

We forget what moved us was his smell
after a day in the world without you.
We forget what moved us was her smile
how her touch found you in the forgotten secrets of your skin.
We forget how contentment feels listening to her voice
and feeling his hand take yours.
We forget that we can ask.
We forget that we can Be.
We forget that we can confess.
We forget that we are one another’s need.

We forget
that we are unlike any other
yet wholly like the other
entirely ourselves.
Matched.
Lost and found
until we find our way again.

I want.
I need.
I desire.
Yes.
I accept.

At least
This is what we say.

– Lola Moi –

seeing stars

inside outside…

inside outside

If I never see you again I will always carry you inside outside on my fingertips and at brain edges and in centers centers of what I am of what remains.

— Charles Bukowski —

of what remains

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