May 18, 2013


A tourist goes to see something. A traveler sees it along the way.

Gentlemen’s Wisdom (via natashakills)

(Source: lifestyleoftheunemployed.com)

1,190 notes
Leave Note / Reblog

They lay beside each other in bed.
She is sleeping.
He is awake.
She always falls asleep before he does.
The sound of her breathing calms him.
It pushes the ghosts out from his rooms.
With the backs
of his fingers he rubs her elbow, and listens.
He wishes to pluck her heart
like an eyelash or a flower
from her chest
and make an infinite map out of it.
She knows he must use his hands to make things.
His hands are restless things.
He talks with them, like blind birds.
He uses them to hold her.
In the morning, he will make tea with them.
They will drink from the same cup.

Dalton Day, “The Cartographer” (via my-grave-is-temporary)

(Source: pigmenting)

286 notes
Leave Note / Reblog

sunnysid3:

“The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.”
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things 

sunnysid3:

The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.”

Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things 

(Source: szarlottka)

510 notes
Leave Note / Reblog

May 17, 2013


babinus:

My Favorite Place…  😻

babinus:

My Favorite Place…  😻

64 notes
Leave Note / Reblog

Afterward,
my hand is a planchette
underneath yours,
and neither of us know
if one of us moves it
or if a spirit has come
to search our wet flesh
for remnants of ecstasy.

Peregrine

9 notes
Leave Note / Reblog
poetry Peregrine oija

bottleneckdreams:

redwingjohnny:

Reflections
by Nadya Johnson

________________
This looks a lot like the barn I used as an art studio post-college upon return to Ohio. I had my studio space and then, by the open doors overlooking a creek, we’d set up an old iron bed and would lug down matresses out there when well, when one of us had a gentleman caller. Open barn, creek, candles, and a big old feather bed…

bottleneckdreams:

redwingjohnny:

Reflections

by 

________________


This looks a lot like the barn I used as an art studio post-college upon return to Ohio. I had my studio space and then, by the open doors overlooking a creek, we’d set up an old iron bed and would lug down matresses out there when well, when one of us had a gentleman caller. Open barn, creek, candles, and a big old feather bed…

44 notes
Leave Note / Reblog

Loading