Lose myself in your blueberry eyes Magnolia, kiss your mauve lips of grapes, squeeze your fleshy, milky macaroon breasts, smell your opium breath of subconsciousness, labyrinth of desires. ― Laura Gentile, Seraphic Addiction. (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform August 17, 2013) Advertisements
Love, too, a leveler, a dying all its own, the parts left behind not to be replaced, a loss ongoing, and every day increased, like rising in the night, at 3:00 am, to watch the snow or the dead leaf fall, the rings around the streetlight in the rain, and then the rain, the red… Continue reading Stanley Plumly
If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. — Jane Austen, Emma. (Penguin Classics; Reissue edition May 6, 2003) Originally published 1815.
My distinguishing marks are wonder and despair. — Wisława Szymborska, from “The Sky,” People on a Bridge. (Forest Books; First Edition edition April 1990)
I lied a little. There are things I don’t want to tell you. How lonely I am today and sick at heart. How the rain falls steadily and cold on a garden grown greener, more lush and even less tame. I haven’t done much, I confess, to contain it. The grapevine, as usual, threatens everything… Continue reading Madelon Sprengnether
I think the trees are ﬁrework taxidermy. A steady reminder of celebration and light. How quiet. I’m a collaps- ing house. Come collect me. — Dalton Day, from “Stepping Out of Sorrow,” published in Souvenir: a Journal. Fall 2015
One minute was enough, Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection. You wake up, and that’s enough. ― Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club. (W. W. Norton August 17, 1996)