“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
— Anaïs Nin

therealkatiewest:

February 20, 2014

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.” 
― Anaïs Nin

I give myself five days to forget you.
on the first day I rust.
on the second I wilt.
on the third day I sit with friends but I think about your tongue.
I clean my room on the fourth day. I clean my body on the fourth day.
I try to replace your scent on the fourth day. 
the fifth day, I adorn myself like the mouth of an inmate.
A wedding singer dressed in borrowed gold.
The midas of cheap metal.
tinsel in the middle of summer.
crevice glitter, two days after the party.
I glow the way unwanted things do,
a neon sign that reads;
come, I still taste like someone else’s mouth.
— Warsan Shire
“I have been ignored by prettier women than you, but none who carried the heavy pitchers of silence so far, without spilling a drop.”
— Jeffrey McDaniel in an excerpt from “Letter to the Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back”

Prelude

Is it the long dry grass that is so erotic,
waving about us with hair-fine fronds of straw,
with feathery flourishes of seed, inviting us
to cling together, fall, roll into it
blind and gasping, smothered by stalks and hair,
pollen and each other’s tongues on our hot faces?
Then imagine if the summer rain were to come,
heavy drops hissing through the warm air,
a sluice on our wet bodies, plastering us with strands of delicious grass; a hum in our ears

We walk a yard apart, talking
of literature and of botany.
We have known each other, remotely, for nineteen years.

Fleur Adcock

“Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I’m never not thinking of you.”
— Virginia Woolf, Selected Letters

I Have To Tell You

I have to tell you, there are times when the sun strikes me like a gong, and I remember everything, even your ears.

Dorothea Grossman

“At first, heartbreak made me beautiful.
My skin fluoresced. I hypnotized trees.
The orphans followed me around town,
drunk on my pain. I ate only my own
hunger, gave off a scent like bitter oranges
or chlorine. Loss left me strangely whole,
as if my sadness, were it strong enough,
could turn your ship around. That was back
when I aged. Now, like an astronomer
who seeks no first causes, but only to map
the connections pinned out over the sea,
I want to diagram the light that shines out
through the holes you pricked into me.”
— Maureen Thorson, in “Apples to Oranges”
“Longing, we say, because desire is full of endless distances.”
— Robert Hass in an excerpt from “Meditation at Lagunitas”

Wisdom

if you don’t
catch her
lookin at you sometime

like she wanna
just grab you
& eat you up

she don’t
if you do
she do

George Barlow