A Theology of Flesh and Blood
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Three cheers for Eve.


Things I Like:
See more of what I like

It’s Monday,
and your hair is messy.
You haphazardly put on your jeans and shirt
as you moan about the day of the week -
and I love you.

It’s Tuesday,
and you’re stumbling your way around the room,
trying to sort out the things you have to do.
You stop to briefly kiss the freckles on my nose,
asking me about my day -
and I love you.

It’s Wednesday,
and you’re quietly sprawled on the couch.
You pat the spot next to you and pepper kisses on my hair
because it’s my least favorite day of the week (and you know it) -
and I love you.

It’s Thursday,
and you’re wondering what the weekend will bring,
but you’re still moaning about how
the week is going by too slow for your tastes -
and I love you.

It’s Friday,
and I’m surrounded by DVDs and snacks
you’ve prepared when I was gone.
You welcome me with blankets and warmth from your arms -
and I love you.

It’s Saturday,
and you’re feeling lazy.
You won’t let me leave your arms
(or is it the other way around?)
So you tuck me under your chin as we both wonder
how much time we have left
before sleep makes us miss each other’s faces -
and I love you.

It’s Sunday,
and there’s nothing much to say but
I love you.

Loving you (NJ.)

Posted on March/18/2014 with 99,026 notes

Posted on January/6/2014 with 109,410 notes


i tried to write about your eyes
but i ran out of cliches

i tried to say you plainly
but there wasn’t enough truth

whoever invented this language
didn’t anticipate you


honestly sometimes people say the most ridiculous shit and I make this face and look somewhere at an imaginary camera like I’m on The Office

I never believed in love at first sight until it happened to me. Then, when it did happen, it was as if every atom in my body had been changed, somehow: as if I’d become charged with light and heat. I was different, forever, just for the sight of her. And the love that opened in my heart seemed to drag the rest of my life behind it, from that moment onward. I heard her voice in every lovely sound the wind wrapped around me. I saw her face in brilliant mirrored flares of memory, every day. Sometimes, when I thought of her, the hunger to touch her and to kiss her and to breathe a cinnamon-scented minute of her black hair clawed at my chest and crushed the air in my lungs. Clouds, heavy with their burden of monsoon rain, massed above the city, above my head, and it seemed to me in those weeks that all grey heaven was my brooding love. The very mangroves trembled with my desire.

And at night, too many nights, it was my restive sleep that rolled and turned the sea in lusted dreaming, until the sun each morning rose with love for her.

Gregory David Roberts (via word-digest)

Posted on September/14/2013 with 29 notes

“Don’t think, I don’t know
what you’re doing, walking past me,
swaying underneath that
reckless body of yours.
You are my kind of accident.
Come here. Come here
and happen all over me.”

Peregrine (via youreyesblazeout)

Posted on September/14/2013 with 281 notes