"Nobody will ever love you as much as an artist can. On your worst days, they will find poetry in the knots of your hair."

That Could Have Been Me (k.p.k) (via kaeandlucy)

(Source: towritepoems, via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

Reblog 26/07/14 URL


My eyes followed the lines in the mahogony bar now

Stretched and faded into the jostled disstance

As I peered from glass to glass, olives and yellows

Pomegranate red, striped straws

Ice cubes swirling.

You leaned over the bar

Resting your weight on your forearms

And the lanky bartender turned his back, whirling this way and that

You turned to me as if to speak

Did you feel that I was staring?

Here on your left admiring the curls and clumps in your hair

Night seaweed and rippling layers of shadow lines

I taste salt in the etch lines of my vaso

Forest of dripping and entangling vine

What if my fingers were entrapped in the spiral?

“A black Russian would be nice at this point in my night,” you said

Your eyes are the color of a Brazilian nut taken from the recesses of the Amazon

They are the round doors to a viscous memory

Rooted deeply in the warm soil of beginnings

They are oil paints of swirling earth and relucent night

“To read my eyes is to know me and I should like to know a dancer,”

“I think a Cossack dancer, pouring me that drink, warming me” you said.

I traced my eyes across your light olive skin

Down the dangling twisted vine plunged into imagination

Your hips and trembling flesh greeted the percussion

“Buy me the Russian that I ask for and let me warm my organs.”

The silky fringe lay in tatters across your abdomen

I am the breeze to enter the spaces of your transparent blouse

“Sir, bring her a black Russian would you?”

You circled your torso, pressing against the bar, swaying.

My hands trace the olive of your skin

Mahogany and honey, cello and silk

“The drink runs through me.”

Mixing, dipping, blossoming

The spaces of your silhouette in the swirling earth of a relucent night.


Santiago, Black Russian (via word-digest)

(via word-digest)

Reblog 26/07/14 URL


"Yours is the only face I recognize.
Bone at my bone, you drink my answers in."

Anne Sexton, “Unknown Girl in the Maternity Ward,” from To Bedlam and Part Way Back (via lifeinpoetry)
Reblog 26/07/14 URL

"Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air."

Sylvia Plath, “Lady Lazarus,” from Ariel: The Restored Edition (via lifeinpoetry)
Reblog 26/07/14 URL

"I want you to want me."

Alfredo Encanasa, The Savannah Swimmers (via titotitus)
Reblog 26/07/14 URL

- acrylic, marker on paper


- acrylic, marker on paper

Reblog 26/07/14 URL

Forgive me


sultry evenings lure me
into the shadows

where sweetness dies
and cravings grow thick

bodies extract flavors
of a forbidden kiss

innocent words
grab your throat

and fuck you to a bliss


(via so-realism)



Some Things You Could Do To Heal Yourself:

Don’t kiss the boy with no bicycle.
Don’t kiss the girl with moon lips.
Don’t kiss wild animals
or hand grenades.
You fuck for the same reasons
lost men drink.

Don’t spend another day
mourning the smell of her shampoo.

You silly little girl,

In the darkness, who would know?

In the darkness, who would know?

(Source: teleskier2012, via classykittenn)

Reblog 26/07/14 URL

"We kissed in that darkness
where everyone’s the same,
where lips might be anything—
a hand, a belly, the curve of a hip,
or a small string of words,
not yet spoken, half inside your mouth,
and half inside of mine."

Bat for Lashes

Artist: Bat for Lashes

Album: What's a Girl to Do (Single)

Track: What's a Girl to Do?


What’s a Girl to Do? - Bat for Lashes

(via so-realism)

Reblog 25/07/14 URL

"There was so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must tell you something about yourself. I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted."

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (via man-of-prose)

(via so-realism)

Reblog 25/07/14 URL
2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10