"—who will press, now,
his heart over my heart to warm me?"
his heart over my heart to warm me?"
— Louise Glück, excerpt of The White Series
(via antigonick)
(via nicola-blank)
“I feel like I’m floating in plasma I need a teacher or a lover I need someone to risk being involved with me. I am so vain and I am so masochistic. How can they coexist?“”— Francesca Woodman, from a journal entry featured in Francesca Woodman by Chris Townsend (via watchoutforintellect)
(via blazeofgold)
“Two souls are sometimes created together and in love before they’re even born.”— F. Scott Fitzgerald; The Beautiful and Damned (via sunsetquotes)
(via biancakarinablog)
Handmade prisoner’s notebook with this Anna Akhmatova poem committed to memory:
The twenty-first. Night. Monday.
The outlines of the capital are in mist.
Some idler invented the idea
That there’s something in the world called love.
And from laziness or boredom,
Everyone believed it and here is how they live:
they anticipate meetings, they fear partings
And they sing the songs of love.
But the secret will be revealed to the others,
And a hush will fall on them all . . .
I stumbled on this by accident
And since then have been somehow unwell.
1917
PetersburgFrom The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova (trans. Judith Hemschemeyer; ed. Roberta Reeder). (Somerville, Mass.: Zephyr Press, 2000).
(via blazeofgold)
"the worst thing about love is
i remember it."
i remember it."
— June Gehringer, from “I get so jealous of euthanized dogs.“ published in Peach
(via lifeinpoetry)
(Source: peachmgzn.com, via lifeinpoetry)
"Here is the cycle and this is what begot it:
he touched me in cars. Nights we drove
only to stop by the water, so still our shadows
made sounds. Light from the lake broke
from his fingers. Once, a cruiser found us.
I was asked if I was safe. I knew
nothing. I said yes."
he touched me in cars. Nights we drove
only to stop by the water, so still our shadows
made sounds. Light from the lake broke
from his fingers. Once, a cruiser found us.
I was asked if I was safe. I knew
nothing. I said yes."
— Alison Stine, “Chairs,” from Ohio Violence (via bostonpoetryslam)
