"I touch your mouth, I touch the edge of your mouth with my finger, I am drawing it as if it were something my hand was sketching, as if for the first time your mouth opened a little, and all I have to do is close my eyes to erase it and start all over again, every time I can make the mouth I want appear, the mouth which my hand chooses and sketches on your face, and which by some chance that I do not seek to understand coincides exactly with your mouth which smiles beneath the one my hand is sketching on you.
You look at me, from close up you look at me, closer and closer and then we play cyclops, we look closer and closer at one another and our eyes get larger, they come closer, they merge into one and the two cyclopses look at each other, blending as they breathe, our mouths touch and struggle in gentle warmth, biting each other with their lips, barely holding their tongues on their teeth, playing in corners where a heavy air comes and goes with an old perfume and a silence. Then my hands go to sink into your hair, to cherish slowly the depth of your hair while we kiss as if our mouths were filled with flowers or with fish, with lively movements and dark fragrance. And if we bite each other the pain is sweet, and if we smother each other in a brief and terrible sucking in together of our breaths, that momentary death is beautiful. And I feel you tremble against me like a moon on the water."

- Julio Cortazar, Hopscotch (via micaceous)

(via micaceous)

"

1. You sunk all the ships in my shore and left me a barren country.

2. The ashes of your last kiss scald my mouth.

3. You have left my bones crooked, unaligned when you wrenched yourself outwards from my skin.

4. I’m still a fool for the hush of your breath.

5. You’re a criminal, a derelict, you’ve unscrewed the corner of my mind and left fingerprints all over this crime scene.

6. The supernova you left me with is beautiful, but unsatisfying.

7. My loneliness breaks my back.

8. I was never a wordsmith, you taught me the meaning of want.

9. Let me chart the ghost of your memory before I forget the contours of your thighs.

10. I’ll veil the light over your eyes and drain away your nightmares if you’ll let me touch your face, one more time, again, again.

"

- Sarah Trajcevska, Poems for a disappearing lover  (via micaceous)

(via micaceous)

micaceous:

Louis Garell and Lea Seydoux in Petit Tailleur

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

"We are the girls with anxiety disorders, filled appointment books, five-year plans. We take ourselves very, very seriously. We are the peacemakers, the do-gooders, the givers, the savers. We are on time, overly prepared, well read, and witty, intellectually curious, always moving… We pride ourselves on getting as little sleep as possible and thrive on self-deprivation. We drink coffee, a lot of it. We are on birth control, Prozac, and multivitamins… We are relentless, judgmental with ourselves, and forgiving to others. We never want to be as passive-aggressive as our mothers, never want to marry men as uninspired as our fathers… We are the daughters of the feminists who said, “You can be anything,” and we heard, “You have to be everything."

- Courtney Martin (via micaceous)

(via micaceous)