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.
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.
you are in my blood. i can’t help it. we can’t be anywhere except together.
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.
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.
Jon Hopkins - The Escapist v. Light Through The Veins (coldplay)