your are sewing up my lips

November 2011

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“And I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.” —Charles Bukowski (via calaire)

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my blog → windinnovember.blogspot.com

this time I’m not going to neglect it after only 1 post.

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everyoneback:

i laugh when people insult my fair skin

excuse me, peasant

i can afford not to work outside in the fields and in the sun all day

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#:D

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#Schiele

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ambedo n. a kind of melacholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life.

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