so worthy of admiration

June 30, 2020

Later on, Tadzio lay in the sand resting from his swim, a white towel drawn under his right shoulder, his head on his bare arm. Even when Aschenbach stopped staring at him to read a few pages of his book, he hardly ever forgot that the boy was lying there, that it only cost him a slight rightward turn of the head to glimpse that sight which was so worthy of admiration. He could almost imagine himself sitting there for the resting boy’s protection, busy with his own matters, yet ever watchful over the fine visual representation of humankind to his right, not far from him. And his heart was filled and moved by a kind of paternal pride, by the sentimental affection of the self-sacrificing creative mind that produces beauty toward someone who simply possesses it.

Thomas Mann
Death in Venice

hibernating rattlesnakes

June 26, 2020

If I had my way we’d sleep every night all wrapped around each other like hibernating rattlesnakes.

William S. Burroughs
Naked Lunch

you want him stitched into your skin. you want the blood in your mouth to taste like his. you never want him to stop gnawing at you; leaving marks with his teeth. you want to look at your bones and see the impression of him.

natasza stark
how to love a god, part iii

don’t stop

June 23, 2020

dont stop when you notice my eyelids fluttering closed, dont stop when you realize i couldnt stay conscious one moment longer, dont stop when i go limp and vulnerable beneath your hands. dont stop dont stop dont stop. keep going until youre satisfied. even if that means cumming deep inside my soft, defenseless body – if that means two, three, four more orgasms. take your fill of me.

Don’t stop


June 20, 2020

Send out the singers – let the room be still;
They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep.
Close out the sun, for I would have it dark
That I may feel how black the grave will be.
The sun is setting, for the light is red,
And you are outlined in a golden fire,
Like Ursula upon an altar-screen.
Come, leave the light and sit beside my bed,
For I have had enough of saints and prayers.
Strange broken thoughts are beating in my brain,
They come and vanish and again they come.
It is the fever driving out my soul,
And Death stands waiting by the arras there.

Ornella, I will speak, for soon my lips
Shall keep a silence till the end of time.
You have a mouth for loving – listen then:
Keep tryst with Love before Death comes to tryst;
For I, who die, could wish that I had lived
A little closer to the world of men,
Not watching always thro’ the blazoned panes
That show the world in chilly greens and blues
And grudge the sunshine that would enter in.
I was no part of all the troubled crowd
That moved beneath the palace windows here,
And yet sometimes a knight in shining steel
Would pass and catch the gleaming of my hair,
And wave a mailed hand and smile at me,
Whereat I made no sign and turned away,
Affrighted and yet glad and full of dreams.
Ah, dreams and dreams that asked no answering!
I should have wrought to make my dreams come true,
But all my life was like an autumn day,
Full of gray quiet and a hazy peace.

What was I saying? All is gone again.
It seemed but now I was the little child
Who played within a garden long ago.
Beyond the walls the festal trumpets blared.
Perhaps they carried some Madonna by
With tossing ensigns in a sea of flowers,
A painted Virgin with a painted Child,
Who saw for once the sweetness of the sun
Before they shut her in an altar-niche
Where tapers smoke against the windy gloom.
I gathered roses redder than my gown
And played that I was Saint Elizabeth,
Whose wine had turned to roses in her hands.
And as I played, a child came thro’ the gate,
A boy who looked at me without a word,
As tho’ he saw stretch far behind my head
Long lines of radiant angels, row on row.
That day we spoke a little, timidly,
And after that I never heard the voice
That sang so many songs for love of me.
He was content to stand and watch me pass,
To seek for me at matins every day,
Where I could feel his eyes the while I prayed.
I think if he had stretched his hands to me,
Or moved his lips to say a single word,
I might have loved him – he had wondrous eyes.

Ornella, are you there? I cannot see –
Is every one so lonely when he dies?,
The room is filled with lights – with waving lights –
Who are the men and women ’round the bed?
What have I said, Ornella? Have they heard?
There was no evil hidden in my life,
And yet, and yet, I would not have them know –

Am I not floating in a mist of light?
O lift me up and I shall reach the sun!

Sara Teasdale


June 20, 2020

It’s a fever.
A hand on the throat, squeezing.
Like sweat in all the strangest
corners of the body.
It feels like a fox bite.
A wolf uncoiling in the neck.
Think all the birds falling out of the sky,
nose diving to make nests in your hips.
He turns you into a house, swinging doors
that creek constantly with longing.
Hands not your own.
Heart beating faster than normal.
Like this: not breathing.
Like this: all the oceans falling off the
map into your lungs.

Karese Burrows

desert grasses whisper
against a newborn sky
telling secrets until its cheeks
paint themselves pink
the stratus

if the sky can listen, why can’t you?

I think of dew falling on the terrain
like a contradiction in the dawn
a truth where two states can coexist
and cohabitate within themselves
the fervent afternoon air
condensing over the fields
like a world

they say the truth will set you free but why do I still feel trapped?

a cool breeze blows
across my sweat slicked face
hair cropped close to the roots
settling, grounding
day old lipstick stains on my collar
I feel this chill more than the heat

it wasn’t wrong until you made it that way.

if it rains, I think about running
until my legs give out
unsmooth and scarred to the ankles
either outrunning the clouds
or until my lungs give out
but I know an empty chest and tired legs
          will not

I can’t turn into what I’m not for you.

Haily Stager

sipping honey in the sunlight with your hand in mine sounds so divine. when can we start? i’d love to just wrap my legs around your waist, stare into your honey brown eyes and kiss your freckled cheeks. will you take me away from this rotting place, and take me to the places you know? will you walk with me in the sunlight and serenade me while we picnic? your voice sends shivers down my spine and sends chills on my skin. waiting for the sunset is how it feels to be waiting for you while you are away. i wait all day and it is still not as spectacular as your precious kiss. will you wait for me?

Lauren Garland
Sunshine love romance

My grandmother pulls roses from her ears
and her lips are as plump as a fig as she whispers

Koranic verse. I swear that all the grace in the world
hangs from her knees. I watch her

from the bathroom, ankles deep in muddy water
as I awkwardly attempt wudu. I hide my vibrator

under my tongue and it swells each time I touch
the Koran. This Ramadan, I am too thirsty

to fast. I listen to the loud boom of the athan
five times a day. This reminds me of how much

shame I inherited. I do not belong in mosques.
I belong with women who write letters to secret

men with their earwax, with women who crumble
at the sight of man.

Noor Hindi

We were a galaxy exploding into a million pieces, creating a whole new world, as we crashed against each other on the soft surface of his mattress, a cloud in the darkness, our bodies finally falling together like rain.

Emme Rollins
Dear Rockstar