sin, sugar and sex

sin, sugar and sex

In six days I am starting a brand new life in Spain, and this is one of the reasons for my speechlessness.

Six days and already my dreams smell like the sun. I feel the tickle of sand under my feet and saltwater on my lips. A new language floods my ears, and even the colors are different -

Meanwhile, my old life is neatly packed and put away in twelve boxes. Books are to be buried in a basement, and I am to fly, free of the burden that is knowledge. It is so simple to leave everything behind, knowing that memories are stored in bone marrow, written down in the DNA, tattooed on the skin.

I am starting to think that nothing is ever lost. All is gained. Days are gained, experience is gained. The maps of our minds are forever extended.

i haven’t written a line in weeks
only this wild goose chase for
intimacy, closeness, unity in this
old, close-windowed apartment

i’m sick of love songs
blaring from the skies
i’m sick of asking you to love me
i drew your hands the other day
& that gave me Peace
for over five minutes

is love an accomplishment? what
have we done with our days…?
watched sunsets come and go
on their own; we admired birds
that do not even know we exist.

the days drip like ink on my desk
day by day. after i die
measure my existence in vodka
and in books
and say: “she had no resistance
to beauty, no resistance to love”

Buntzen Lake » Griffin Lamb {VSCO Grid}

Buntzen Lake » Griffin Lamb {VSCO Grid}

(via simply-divine-creation)

to be a woman is to be a house

consider a womb - that warm and watery shelter which you can not remember but can easily imagine. inside its walls, you were safe as a pea in a pod, or a heart in a body. you were wrapped like a gift and cherished. now every time you look at a woman, you examine the inside-outs of her anatomy: the arches of bones, red rivers of blood, and most importantly, the house that she carries inside her. you have long known that people are homes; you felt it in the warmth their hands emitted at evening. but now you know that women are that all the more, you know that whenever they travel they take their houses with them…consider this traveling house, this temple, this church, this womb. discover that its symbology is endless.

dear hands: i get it. you like writing poetry. but you can’t bring a metaphor to a gun fight.

Rudy Francisco

(via lipfused)

part of my new project

part of my new project

part of my new project

part of my new project

part of my new project

part of my new project

part of my new project

part of my new project

part of my new project

part of my new project