Transient Tomes

...and always this memory of drowning.

i will wade out

fables-of-the-reconstruction:

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

e.e. cummings

(via mirroir)

I couldn’t live where there were no trees — something vital in me would starve.

—L.M. Montgomery, Anne’s House of Dreams  (via words-and-coffee)

nitratediva:

"We queens are not free to answer the call of our heart…" Lil Dagover in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919).

nitratediva:

"We queens are not free to answer the call of our heart…" Lil Dagover in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919).

(via viviling)

Maybe my limbs are made
mostly for decoration,
like the way I feel about
persimmons. You can’t
really eat them. Or you
wouldn’t want to. If you grab
the soft skin with your fist
it somehow feels funny,
like you’ve been here
before and uncomfortable,
too, like you’d rather
squish it between your teeth
impatiently, before spitting
the soft parts back up
to linger on the tongue like
burnt sugar or guilt.
For starters, it was all
an accident, you cut
the right branch
and a sort of light
woke up underneath,
and the inedible fruit
grew dark and needy.
Think crucial hanging.
Think crayon orange.
There is one low, leaning
heart-shaped globe left
and dearest, can you
tell, I am trying
to love you less.

—"Crush," Ada Limón  (via petrichour)

(Source: commovente, via petrichour)