June 2011
111 posts
Dark Sonnet; neil gaiman
I don’t think that I’ve been in love as such although I liked a few folk pretty well Love must be vaster than my smiles or touch for brave men died and empires rose and fell for love, girls follow boys to foreign lands and men have followed women into hell In plays and poems someone understands there’s something makes us more than blood and bone And more than...
May 2011
66 posts
24.
You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terr- ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and...
why are all the people i wanna talk to not home yet ?!?!???!!!
sam if you’re reading this, get your butt back here soon.
three more days to bali
don’t read too much into it. you make me happier than i used to be already. i’d be a sea of sadness without you
“If i had a camera,” I said, “I’d take a picture of you everday. That way i’d remember how you looked every single day of your life.”If you’re so smart, how did I change today?“You got a little happier and also a little sadder.” Meaning they cancel each other out, leaving me exactly the same. “Not at all. The fact that you got a little...
She’s kept her love for him as alive as the summer they first met. In order to do this, she’s turned life away. Sometimes she subsists for days on water and air. Being the only known complex life-form to do this, she should have a species named after her. Once Uncle Julian told me how the sculptor and painter Alberto Giacometti said that sometimes just to paint a head you have to give up the whole...
it is what it is
the leather couch, the silken drapes, the tall French windows opening out into the garden of bougainvilleas and frangipani trees.
inside, the music is playing, two ornate paintings hang high in their glassy gilded frames, and if i stare hard enough at the marble floor i will see my reflection staring back at me.
there is a corner in the house where i can sit for hours and believe anything is...
Open Letter to Eros; simone muench
I want a love that is imprecise, one that sprawls over the bed, spills out windows, disrupting churchgoers as they stroll across the green glow of mowed lawns. I want a love that commandeers the world, a bone- clanking, hydrant-splashing, dog- salivating affair. The ravaged and the ravenous — those lycanthropes of lust. No candy hearts or delicacies of...
After Your Death; natasha trethewey
First, I emptied the closets of your clothes, threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised rom your touch, left empty the jars you bought for preserves. The next morning, birds rustled the fruit trees, and later when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem, I found it half eaten, the other side already rotting, or—like another I plucked and split open—being taken rom...
Personal; tony hoagland
Don’t take it personal, they said; but I did, I took it all quite personal— the breeze and the river and the color of the fields; the price of grapefruit and stamps, the wet hair of women in the rain— And I cursed what hurt me and I praised what gave me joy, the most simple-minded of possible responses. The government reminded me of my father, with its deafness and its...
“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those...”
– Plato’s Symposium
How It Will Happen, When; dorianne laux
There you are, exhausted from a night of crying, curled up on the couch, the floor, at the foot of the bed, anywhere you fall you fall down crying, half amazed at what the body is capable of, not believing you can cry anymore. And there they are, his socks, his shirt, your underwear and your winter gloves, all in a loose pile next to the bathroom door, and...
