there was a boy

His quiet intelligence simmers just below his clouded and curious eyes, eyes that have seen and hunger to see more. Eyes hungering for the feeling of true connection and more than a shared cigarette at the last call of a bar. He knows he is intelligent, he has worked for it, but for reasons unknown he masks it in jest and drink. But the moment you get him alone, feel his hands gliding across your arms and feel the blood pulsing through his deep veins, you feel his mind pressing through the insecurities. The mind of a true artist; someone gentle, kind, protective, passionate. A silken pompadour sits on top of a quizzical brow, always seeking to be inspired, brows that move up and down to an unheard melody of a song only he can hear in his heart. How can this boy not know how truly grand he is without the input of others? How can he be so nervous when he could be so great? Youth will fade to experience and he will soar and we will all be lucky to have had his hands upon us.

His mouth requires pause. It’s like whiskey. It’s deep and you feel it in your knees when you look at it or taste it too long. His tongue wisps at his teeth, framed by full lips, wisps like a string of smoke sneaking out as they part. With your thumb pulling pouting lips to parting, you know how it would feel to have his mouth on your rib cage, piercing through your skin like scissors through tissue paper, forcing the breath right out of you. His skin is smooth and firm, the skin of a breath of fall air and moonlight. There’s nature and grace and beer and musk, a will to prove himself, a will to succeed, a will to feel everything the world can offer him. It’s an old soul and a young heart, a mind on Neptune, and lips on mine.

via *

melissa

With grace and with teardrops she sighs,
makes a move for the crushed velvet dress
sitting in a pile at the foot of the bed.
His cigarette smoke behind her curls
around his face like a villain's mustache
from her father's old cartoons.
He was never a man she saw herself with
and yet moments before she let herself
moan in his arms, let his sweat hover
above her and glue their chests together.

via *

wants

I want to see you standing in my doorway. I want to sit on my porch with you and talk for hours on end. I want to see you above me pressing out all of the air in my lungs with your body weight. I want to feel our breathing synch up and see the sun peek over your shoulder after twisting hours on their heads. I want to read books with you and read your words and have you read mine.

Let's create a reality from this fiction. Let's talk and play and fall together. Let me feel your lips for longer than the moments I've only tasted so far.

via *

you'd make a nighttime of the day so it'd suit the mood of your song

Maybe it's because I'm used to being broken and seeing broken things that I never complain when the ice machine is on the fritz or the air conditioner isn't quite cold enough. Maybe it's because I love the numbness that I find it easy to shut my eyes for three second intervals while I drive, a little dare for myself. I've been internally screaming for months and before I reached the boiling point, I let my car drift across lanes, regaining control just before disaster struck. The roads are silent and lonely at two in the morning, perfect for escapism. I want it to stay this fuzzy time forever, always have the perfect wind of a summer night to spill my secrets into.

via *

Ps. Sorry I've been gone; it's been rough goings.

like an American

Belated 4th of July post because it is my absolute favorite day and I spent it in beautiful nature with the most beautiful people I know. We listened to classic rock and Lana Del Rey, we let the sun envelop our bodies, we let our lips become blood red with sugar from snow cones. We lived loud and proud.

My favorite beauties

Small town parades full of pride and salt water taffy. Picking the taffy off the street while its still gooey in its wrapper makes it taste all the sweeter.

Aftermath of a very victorious and refreshing water war. AKA the best part of the parade.

We rock red lips like nobody else. Nobody else at all. 

We also rock dancing to incredibly perfect cover bands better than anyone else. This cover band comes complete with lead singer cloaked in only the tightest white pants in the world and a vest with an American flag print. Their standing engagement at the Kaysville, Utah July 4th party is the stuff of dreams. So is our dancing when you take into account that the other dancers are either well below 11 or well above 50. We look astounding.

And of course, des feu d'artifice. 

America is dancing like no one is watching, but knowing that if they are that you look sexy and strong and free. My hair is whipping across my face and my whole orgasmic body is moving with the sound pressing against every curve of me. America is late night talks at Denny's with your best friends about your fears and your dreams and knowing that they will listen and will always be there for you and hug you close like warm summer nights. 

Happy 4th, everyone. I felt young and dope and proud, like an American.