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DevIDby ~SoirDesFantomes
Natural DisasterI imagine you walking around in the city. Busy. Unfazed by my tired face glaring down at your storybook complications. I see the hands you shake, the eyes you meet, the words you sing to yourself. Your routine is not complex, nor so simple that time leaves you breathless and romanticized. It seems practiced and deliberate. The way your chest curves, tight and modest against comforting stitches. I was used to your skin before I even touched it. I saw you bounding up lifeless stone steps, with fingers that have been through so many hairs, across so many shoulders that smelled too densely sweet to be me. I loved them fast and shockingly, like unNatural Disaster
by ~SoirDesFantomes
I Can Smell YouYou smell profound like soap and wood. Like wet wood, very different than burning wood. You are musty, worn, forgotten. You smell like a waterfall crashing noisy aching free, no milky wholesome senses. I smell expectations. I smell stories you don't want to tell.I Can Smell You
You smell like his corduroy flesh but it belongs to you, foreign on him alien borrowed, sitting like fog on murky water but it breathes you in and you're meant for it. Your mouth is cold but your eyes are warm but your stomach is cold but your hands are warm and soft like blankets on your face when you think you don't need but it grabs you in and you sink so slowly like
by ~SoirDesFantomes
It was. It was a heat. A tickle. Lips, grasping like farewell. Fingers, twisting in union. Perhaps a shudder. Real bending falling swirling drops of fortitude on hungry knees. Integrating curves and angles. Those last few inches, of whole, delicious, gasping, oxygen. It was every promenade, every candle, every hot bath. It was every pillow. It was lip-biting thrashing. Gazing, and crying out. It was every flash of lightening, every dark swim. Every bed with broken mattress. Every toe with broken kisses. Every empty glass. Every. Single. Inch. It was a tear, a laugh, and a scream. It was a dark room, a lighter tampered. Every whIt was.
by ~SoirDesFantomes
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Boston, Massachusetts
- Interests: Jazz, Poetry, Singing, Photography, Light, Rain, Romance, Blues, Beauty, Angles, Theatre, Death
- Favourite movie: Green Street, Love Actually, Sex is Comedy, Rocky Horror
- Favourite band or musician: Far too many
- Favourite genre of music: Classic Rock, Soft Rock, Jazz, Blues, Gospel
- Favourite artist: Degas
- Favourite poet or writer: Maya Angelou, Edgar Allen Poe, Stephanie Meyer
- Favourite photographer: Miranda Penn Turin, Malike Sidibe
- MP3 player of choice: iPod Nano
- Skin of choice: Soft and naked :)
- Tools of the Trade: Charcoal pencils and a notebook
- Email: Beneficia20@aol.com
- AIM: Beneficia20
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Sketch 'til your hand burns.
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Violator3 - Analog? Mmmh... it's better than digital.
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:::: ja govorim tiho i nosim stafelaj sa sobom :::
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Violator3 - Analog? Mmmh... it's better than digital.
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Life is just waiting around for the next disaster. The only consolation is, one of these times it'll be fatal.
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Life is a state of mind...
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