We are never what we intend, or invent.

(Source: i0beyy, via crypticmeth)

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(via junoslut)

Until I die I will sing our names in unison.

No love, no life, no history.
Just touch, just chemistry, just
a roaring undercurrent simple and sensory.
Young bodies, warm skin, perfect symmetry and
It’s a moment, harmless. It’s energy.
It’s like medicine,
It’s self-discovery.

I see a beauty springing upward from the earth and from out our hearts.
For all the bad that seems to plague us, I swear to you there’s good.

Somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near

Your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

Or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(I do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

(via junoslut)

(Source: ahoyanchorsaway, via junoslut)

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(via your-body-is-a-canvas)

(via crypticmeth)