#longing
The fact that I can’t have you makes me want you even more.
I don’t know you, so I make up the wildest stories about you and me…
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In my dream, I feel the vibrating sunrays broadcasting glowing molecules through the rooms. They draw me with mighty power into their circle like a pack of elven spirits, tearing my arms, laughing and singing. Pulling me outside into the free air under the blue sky, I can no longer resist …
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My soul loved yours long before we met.
I think about your cock constantly tonight is no different
I am ashamed that I cannot figure out yet what I want. What I have always wanted. Because what is life without longing?
You left in me a painful type of longing that drills a black hole into the soul.
What was enough yesterday
seems no longer so.
I distract myself from what’s missing
with true and honest joy,
but the quiet moments are full
of so much silence
and longing.
The juice beads to the surface And the sugar kisses your lips The sweet rests upon your tongue Sinking your teeth deep Slurping, as drips fall down your chin. A flush comes to your cheeks And the fruit slides down your throat. This is how I drank you in. Every meeting as succulent as the last. The heat built as steam on glass On and on sliding down my throat. You clutched my one. You clutched me…
Update
(personal that is )
I miss daiya what do I do with this energy
But here we are — dissecting a pomelo
warmed by my car radio on Sunday and weekdays
of sitting by the west window watching us move
in rotation, disks among a sliding axis,
gravity now propping us against the counter top,
in the kitchen, admiring the thickness
of the pomelo skin. As if it’s waited so long to be unpeeled.
Grown swollen and fish-pink in longing. We pull it apart
cell by cell. I’ve never swallowed
poetry like this. These coral citrus segments could be light-moons
like hearts at the beginning of things — 8 moon flips
on Jupiter, says the radio, that night, the tides pulling
us under the lemon tree, twisting our names
into reoccurring rotation. You’re slicing me,
citrus moon. This is candy, yeah, like that.
“ For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.”
- Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte
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It hurts when - Sad Love Picture Quotes on We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/75826691/via/mydearvalentine3
My life nowadays..
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“Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.” – Milan Kundera (The Unbearable Lightness of Being)
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Happy October 1st.
I didn’t forget about you
I just remembered me.
Maybe… The reason why it’s hard to let go of the past
Is that we can’t see our future.
I’m so starved for Connection.
But my Wi-fi is out.
verb
to yearn for, long for, or remember with sorrow the absence, deprivation or loss of someone or something.
Te añoro cada vez más.
I long for you more and more.
My
starlight in a bottle boy,
burning up from the inside.
My beloved supernova.
Finally come to end it all?
Finally going to let us rest?
Solar flare,
don’t you dare
burn
our house
down.
Time can only
heal the entry wound of the
poison barb
you left inside me:
rotting love,
festering longing -
purple toxin living in my
blood.
Your hand in
my hand,
but
time struck and
you stumbled —
down,
down,
down —
oh,
were our shattered knees
and
scraped hands,
blood-tinged teeth —
were they worth it?
(Was it worth it to
clasp
our hands
so tightly that
one circle, two —
rings of fire,
surrounding us both
forever?)
My once known shadow,
but my forever estranged enemy,
held me so tenderly when I gave him what he longed for:
goodbye.
You love that little blade:
cradle it’s handle oh so gently.
Sing it soft songs to sleep.
Warm it’s metal with your rest laden body.
You love that little blade -
even when it cuts.
Have you ever loved in scales?
Perfect balance?
Perfect symmetry?
Each step mirrored -
where one goes, the other
follows?
The smallest shift in weight can
jar the balance -
a breath,
a kiss,
a tear,
a moment.
A clang as joints disband.
A crash to the floor as you
spin out of orbit.
It will never be the same.
You will never be the same.
But -
But,
once,
you were lucky enough to
love
in scales.
Once,
you were whole and
perfect.
Oh,
sweet memory,
the icy blade between my
bones.
Oh, sweet love,
the ailment lingering in my
blood.
Oh, sweet agony,
burning through my
lungs.
Oh, sweet lover,
lost from me
forever.
Oh, sweet sadness:
eternal companion and
penance.
And he saved you from
disaster and ruin,
your beautiful fire-starting boy.
The flames he lets lick your
salt-soaked remains
don’t change that.
Many times,
he saved you.
Many times.
(It only takes once for
destruction
to lay waste.)
(It only takes
forever for a
heart to break.)
