.taste.this.and.be.henceforth.among.the.gods
What do I adore about reading? I suppose it must be how a sentence can electrify each vein spun and wound within the body in ways which only Arachne would envy.
***
I have not written in here for quite some time. Save scant, sparsely travailing compositions and acknowledgements of songs or conversations.
I want to discuss my future, but I am nervous to record it just yet.
For as it stands.. the opportunities available to me appear too far off to be efficacious--At least, if I refuse to truly think of them. The moment I record what I believe may take place, I believe I would be utterly bound to at least one of them.. And more so the default option, for that option I so independently chose and thus hold the sole puissance to accept or decline.
I am terrified but deliciously thrilled at my prospects. I am terrified that I may have nothing to really decide, just something to accept, and with which to make due.
This instability has affected everything about this year. Sometimes for the better, sometimes regretfully so.
Do I often glance behind me? I do.
Sometimes I wish I could rethink a step perhaps before I brazenly move forward. Sometimes I just want to reach out and grab the arm I let so easily go. Other times, I respect who I've become, and what i have before me. For that I am thankful. For those that believe otherwise, I am humbly apologetic. My mind is young, my tact lacking, and my emotions hazy. But perhaps, that next step will be rethought.
Here is the world, here the world's forgetting:
the left and the right hand tugging at one another.
As he runs his tongue up the inside of her thigh,
the world retreats. But that was yesterday.
At first just the touch of her hand would send
the world spinning into darkness. Then it took
a kiss, then the exposing of a breast. How
these confessions age us. Is this why the old
become forgetful? Death's envoy must be Wonder.
Once again a touch becomes electric. As we stagger
toward our ultimate minute, the world grows rich
with opportunity. Ah, Death, unloose your thighs.
***
I have not written in here for quite some time. Save scant, sparsely travailing compositions and acknowledgements of songs or conversations.
I want to discuss my future, but I am nervous to record it just yet.
For as it stands.. the opportunities available to me appear too far off to be efficacious--At least, if I refuse to truly think of them. The moment I record what I believe may take place, I believe I would be utterly bound to at least one of them.. And more so the default option, for that option I so independently chose and thus hold the sole puissance to accept or decline.
I am terrified but deliciously thrilled at my prospects. I am terrified that I may have nothing to really decide, just something to accept, and with which to make due.
This instability has affected everything about this year. Sometimes for the better, sometimes regretfully so.
Do I often glance behind me? I do.
Sometimes I wish I could rethink a step perhaps before I brazenly move forward. Sometimes I just want to reach out and grab the arm I let so easily go. Other times, I respect who I've become, and what i have before me. For that I am thankful. For those that believe otherwise, I am humbly apologetic. My mind is young, my tact lacking, and my emotions hazy. But perhaps, that next step will be rethought.
Here is the world, here the world's forgetting:
the left and the right hand tugging at one another.
As he runs his tongue up the inside of her thigh,
the world retreats. But that was yesterday.
At first just the touch of her hand would send
the world spinning into darkness. Then it took
a kiss, then the exposing of a breast. How
these confessions age us. Is this why the old
become forgetful? Death's envoy must be Wonder.
Once again a touch becomes electric. As we stagger
toward our ultimate minute, the world grows rich
with opportunity. Ah, Death, unloose your thighs.