For our every occurrence
happening in time; not mind
I delicately tread, wanting you 
to feel of a certain rose 
not a bevy of desirous buds
I left impoverished and will
until you become my fountainhead

eatyourownspaceship:

I’ve learned the fickleness inside of things 

Solid things are rare

So hide behind your sitters feet boy

Tell your sister she’s a solid thing 

Be a coward until loneliness grabs you by the hand

and prods you down an isle towards a underwhelming love 

I am just a lover with no love

A selfish sharer 

I’m not looking to change

But I have learned the fickleness inside of me 

Oh mama, where is life but by her

Where else would comfort be so close

like voice to throat

Where else could signifigance be so warm

like minds to sun

Why else would this body of nerves be

if not a wrapper for her needs

What else could really matter? 

Other than her and my seeds

I want to say, I love you 

so sweetly, that I suddenly 

turn to honey, and the words said,

utterly slide into you, honeyed, 

as do I 

eatyourownspaceship:

You stirred a kind of life in me 

Where you’re the sun

and I am the incessantly revolving earth

My living center

You unearthed a part that

is abundant like the blue

on this earth

My living love

You evoked a greenness 

that swells in my speech

and repeats in my moods

You’re so honey to me 

My arbitrary posy

I am lighten with brown, a premature seed

that laid in your ground cause

your voice is like water to me 

Sometimes I sleep but you’re on the 

other side. I’m greeted still, by

light that reflects off the moon’s

surfacing dream of being with you 

eatyourownspaceship:

I want a tree to grow from 

the cuff of our hand’s 

and take root

I want to rake your body with 

the tips of my body

I want you to lie on your belly

with your back exposed to 

my lip’s and hand’s

As i try my best to convey the affection 

I have for you

I want you to lie on your back

breast exposed, mouth open, teeth showing

but eyes closed

I want my head to curl between your breast

as I nest in the middle

Let us rest

I’ve been with women that loved me more

Than I to them

I have finally switched positions in bed

http://www.facebook.com/AlesondroDondi

Infactuations come with mystery

Reality is not so, so slippery

When wisdom spills on top of both

Mistery mister meet your growth

So easily I fall 

To nothing at all

“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.”

— Edgar Allan Poe

Love What Art Thou?
from Urania
by Lady Mary Wroth

Love what art thou? A vain thought
      In our minds by fant’sy wrought.
      Idle smiles did thee beget,
      While fond wishes made the net
      Which so many fools have caught.

Love what art thou? Light and fair,
      Fresh as morning, clear as th’ air.
      But too soon thy evening change
      Makes thy worth with coldness range;
      Still thy joy is mixt with care.

Love what art thou? A sweet flower
      Once full blown, dead in an hour.
      Dust in wind as staid remains
      As thy pleasure or our gains,
      If thy humor change, to lour.

Love what art thou? Childish, vain,
      Firm as bubbles made by rain,
      Wantonness thy greatest pride.
      These foul faults thy virtues hide—
      But babes can no staidness gain.

Love what art thou? Causeless cursed,
      Yet alas these not the worst:
      Much more of thee may be said.
      But thy law I once obeyed,
      Therefore say no more at first.

spokenwordonthestreet:

Daniel Beaty performs Knock Knock. This is honestly one of the most powerful pieces I’ve ever heard. It moves me to tears every single time I watch it. Such beautiful words.

(Source: )

at-the-bottom-of-everything:

we wanted more than
there could ever be:
women of love and 
laughter,
nights wild enough for the
tiger,
we wanted days that
strolled through
life
with some grace,
a bit of
meaning,
a plausible use,
not something 
just to 
waste,
but something to
remember,
something with which to
poke death 
in the gut.

::charles bukowski::