Observations And Stuff. Yeah, stuff.

Gettin' Jiggy With it

294 notes

The urn of language is so fragile. It crumbles and immediately you blow into the dust of words which are the cinder itself. And if you entrust it to paper, it is all the better to inflame you with, my dear, you will eat yourself up immediately.
Jacques Derrida, Cinders (via wordsnquotes)

(via birthmark-poetry)

27 notes

I long for our tongues to trace and traipse their ways down paths already worn, skin soft, into our mockery of sin by trailing, tender fingertips.

I miss the scent of you in the wrinkles of my sheets and the creases of my skin, all that remains is stale. Come and refresh me; they say that smell is the sense most closely linked with memory.

You took every ounce of warmth away with you when you left me sleeping for work this morning. You’d better bring it back tonight, or there’ll be trouble.

You call me “bitch” and it doesn’t matter - I don’t care because I accept that it’s true; we both know my favourite chew toy has always been you. Funny how you should liken me to a dog though I can make you howl like the best of them.

Our favourite game has always been a few frames of pool down at the bar. I think it’s because we could see ourselves in the eye of the eight ball; that white sphere struck on a field of blue gold taught us best how to screw, to kiss and not to tell.

How come sensuality always seems to cause reckless abandon for its namesake? There is no sense in either lust or love, is there?

Where are you? I want you. Now.

Sexts I’ve yet to send to the lover I’ve yet to have. (via theglycoprotein)

(via birthmark-poetry)