And do you get the puff of warm wind? Smelling of spring. Almond blossom, that's what it is. marvellous scent of almond blossom.
D.H. Lawrence, from "The Last Laugh" in The Classic Works of D.H. Lawrence
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oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

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Cosimo Galluzzi
DEAR READER

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@theartofmadeline
occasionally subtle
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Misplaced Lens Cap
Three Goblin Art
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

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@aashiquidreams
And do you get the puff of warm wind? Smelling of spring. Almond blossom, that's what it is. marvellous scent of almond blossom.
D.H. Lawrence, from "The Last Laugh" in The Classic Works of D.H. Lawrence

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I like creating him sensually, unleashing him, inflaming him, opening him. I feel his body as if I were making it with my own hands.
Anaïs Nin, Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1939-1947
I never had to forgive the unforgivable. Because I never gave my heart to someone who’d ask that of me.
i'll make it that deep
just saw this personal ad from 1966 (sourced here) and god. this is really it

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it’s so attractive when someone pays attention to the little details of you
— my soul sends your soul a pinch . . .
Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait in Letters — W. D. Snodgrass, 9th June 1959
“It is enough for you, among all people, to have one who resembles you and is like you. He knows best the places of your comfort, and gathers together the scattered pieces of your soul. You lean on him and feel at ease with him.
Between you is a trust born of loyalty and a support grounded in affection. Each likeness beautifies the other—like fruit and its branch, or dawn and its breeze, or the moon and its halo.”

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There was the feel of electrically charged skin, the way our sentences flowed together when we talked. There was something in the air between us, an intensity, a dense network of connections. I felt understood.
Solvej Balle, On the Calculation of Volume: Book I, tr. Barbara J. Haveland
Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova: Seventh Book; from ‘The Summer Garden', tr. Judith Hemschemeyer
[...] he's in my soul.
Emily Brontë, from ‘Wuthering Heights’
Love is vivid. I never wanted the pale version.
Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?
April 24, 1925 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]

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“Ever since I met you, nobody else is worth thinking about.”
— nightthoughtsxo (via wnq-writers)
“Consume me, carry me to the furthest limit.”
— Virginia Woolf, from “The Waves,” (via violentwavesofemotion)