erymantheia: Whenever I press flowers in my poetry books, I don’t know if I kill them or make them immortal. Both, probably. We pick the prettiest flower, kill it first and then release it from its mortal nature, from its juices and scents. And what is left is their finest form, which cannot be rotten […]

violentwavesofemotion: “The heat of a God streams through my lips. All my atoms are separate and on fire.” — Edith Södergran, from Love & Solitude: Poems (1916 – 1923); “Ecstasy,”

ieatfashionnotfood: “That which is dreamed can never be lost, can never be undreamed.” — Neil Gaiman (via purplebuddhaquotes)

glittertomb: “In the crooks of your body, I find my religon” — Sappho (via coffee-and-quotes)

poem-locker: Haven’t they moved like rivers—like Glory, like light—over the seven days of your body? And wasn’t that good?Them at your hips— isn’t this what God felt when he pressed togetherthe first Beloved: Everything.Fever. Vapor. Atman. Pulsus. Finally,a sin worth hurting for. Finally, a sweet, aYou are mine. It is hard not to have faith […]

nzagul: there are only two genders: monster fuckers and cowards

specialguiltmuseum: “Maybe I’m just blood. Whatever that’s for.” — Alice Notley, from In The Pines: Poems; “Hemostatic,” (via horrorshow)

gaze-on-jesus: …the greatest thing each person can do is to give himself to God utterly and unconditionally – weaknesses, fears, and all. Søren Kierkegaard