”
I told many lies in your name. I will suffer for those, so long as I never suffer your absence again.
(via approximation)
”
Our love of each other was like two long shadows kissing without hope of reality.
Anaïs Nin
(Source: biscodeja-vu, via desirenoir)
Not like this. Much, much different.
(Source: -cream-and-sugar, via sensitivecrimes)
(via pornilove)
Last night.
(via sensitivecrimes)
Words never die, you know. They sit on the page or our lips to be spoken again. And again.
This land is home to many things but my impertinent Spanish blood has thrown stones and pulled grasses and claimed it as mine. The angle of your body against mine, the angle of my legs around your neck, the angle of your arms as your hands grip my hips — there. Hipbones rising from a valley crowned by the arch of ribs, of breasts, beyond which, green eyes are splintered by quickened breaths —
There. We are a soft geometry, a secret space carved into a city of parallels that never meet — except for us, except for this curved space, this stolen moment. Right there, where edges of this lithosphere kiss again, where fire bubbles under currents, there. That’s where the narrative begins to crack; your eyes, your lips, your hands, your calves, your toes, your soles bring with them chapters I never thought I’d write. Yet there I am. There, where the poetic and veridical stop, sigh, surrender, and, on a dirty cafe napkin write, at last, quod erat demonstrandum. Right there. There, where your body fuses into the arch of my back and we dissolve, right there. “I crave you,” you said. And I looked down and smiled, whispering, “don’t carry me far unless you keep me forever.” Symmetries and theories is where we end and we begin — and you sing — and this transference, incredible, changes everything, without displacing a thing.
(via her-little-boudoir)
