with every drop comes a wave that engulfs us all, but we don’t mind the downward pull that lulls us deeper. deeper into a world where it’s floating but you’re swirling like stepping stones sinking into the water. ending the bridge that would have let you wander farther, bound to this side of the shore where you watch the fiery lights fade over what you could not follow. the warmth leaves your skin as the coldness sets in. voices slowly fading into the silence of the night, where whispers are free to roam the light breeze rattling the trees. blues and purples paint the sky while you drift away, listening to your windy lullaby.

Katrina Zafrine (via beryl-azure)

My body is made up of saltwater and wishes, and a thousand star fish that try to mimic the constellations. And sometimes, that’s all I ever want to do: imitate the sky so that you can find a home somewhere within me.

Megan Madgwick (via iamcharliesangel)

darling, let’s play in other elements. we’re building our house in sand and silt but we need something thicker to withstand these winds, these waves, these colliding storms that are pounding through our sandcastle doors. so take the wood from my hands and build with me a frame, to stand into the landlocked soil and wrap our walls around. take the bracken and the clay from all around us and fill these walls to the brim, stack them with bricks to keep out the wolves, and most of all: we’ll build them with love to keep out the demons we’ll tear from our skin, and for all of the memories we want to keep in.

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 beryl-azure)

you are in my blood. i can’t help it. we can’t be anywhere except together.

Francesca Lia Block (via beryl-azure)

(via beryl-azure)

envy consists in seeing things never in themselves, but only in their relations. if you desire glory, you may envy Napoleon, but Napoleon envied Caesar, Caesar envied Alexander, and Alexander, I daresay envied Hercules, who never existed.

Bertrand Russell (via withoutyourkiss)

(via word-digest)

apparently orgasm is the only point where your mind becomes completely empty—you think of nothing for that second. that’s why it’s so compelling—it’s a tiny taste of death. your mind is void—you have nothing in your head save white light.

Jeff Buckley (via withoutyourkiss)

(via word-digest)

64 plays

Jon Hopkins - The Escapist  v. Light Through The Veins (coldplay)

i should have been a pair of ragged claws
scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

T.S. Eliot (via beryl-azure)

(via beryl-azure)