Today in Soho Gardens:


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Because I'm so small I find it easy to back into corners. I find it easy to close myself behind my knees. The more I sit positioned like a boy, the more I hold my face like a girl. I know that walls are cooler than the air. I know that it makes me sad to press my cheek to the walls. I know that I never wanted to be this unhappy (but I'm not I'm ( Read more... )

I've not got anything to say today. I had my Leaver's Ball. I've only vague regret. It's clouded because I'm (so in love) so tired. I'll write more. These will say more for now: (  Pictures of... )

Your pelvis, your hips are open. Prominent enough to climb upon you, enough to rest within you. Your structure is perfect, your face, you've stolen my insides. You've wrapped me in your limbs and hidden me. We are silence, we are comfort and dust on surfaces. We're noise in reverse. Touch is flight. I've been told I'm porcelain before, but you're ( Read more... )

For when the sun's just a wisp of colour in the sky, ineffable, vast and perfect. And down below amongst these solid forms, a homely arrangement, there are distant chords, fingers on strings, to be heard in your garden. His features are hidden and yet your taste is sweet on such vivid nights. You can touch the wood you sit on and suffer your ( Read more... )