holly carmine

Eve, on the porch,

Cigarettes in hand,

She takes the role of movie star

And makes the myth woman.

My girl, barely 18

With her brazen bra exposed,

Lights another one for the camera,

Sultry eyes closed.

And she’s alien to me,

My fresh eyes unfamiliar,

Yet I smell the scent so sweet

And sap rose,

Her soul is soft vermillion.

I know her yet I don’t,

My friend more or less?

I cannot place this woman girl,

She makes my head a mess.

She’s a universal feeling,

But empty nonetheless,

And as I search for reasoning,

the further I regress.

But I want not for answers,

For she’ll return again,

The smoke will linger on her skin,

Went wild at tender ages

Rust will come in time

And oxygen corrodes you

“Take care to fight the signs”

Free to run across

The weaker bridge of two

Blame it on the wind

No hands are pushing you

Sick of sweet and soft

You climb serrated peaks

And balance on the pinnacle

Where night and silence meet

Speak out the voice you shelter

Nursing coarser tones

You’ll learn to when you’re older

They say that’s how it goes

Youth is but a canyon

Where love as fever burns

Dare to cross the nothing

This is what my dream handbag and contents would look like, the kind of girl that just has 'it'... if that exists?

he who does not think himself in need does not desire what he does not think he lacks’ 204a, Eros as Philosopher - Plato’s Symposium

So with our children, their growing up brings wider fruits but their infancy was sweeter. Book 9 Letters from a Stoic (p49)

Let the heavy rest on my collarbone

Rib to wrist the bones stand the strain

I don't want oblivion, and power makes a dangerous friend

I just seek a truth that keeps me safe

I'm outside your stratosphere

Faithful

Floating

Flying

Born and dying

Grotesque

Creature

You want to meet her

And it's more than anyone could take

Giving it all

Up

What's that feel like

Hamanasu Rose

Le Ultime Vestali, scanned from Vogue Italia March 1998 couture supplement. This image really speaks to the flame in my heart, such a passionate piece of work. One can imagine Phantom of the Opera-esque music, climactic, euphoric.

Talking to you is like throwing back a chaser,

You lace the sweet I’m craving with a casual sting.

I wouldn’t follow you to a foreign country

But when you’re starved of love,

Need contaminates the skin.

You raised me overdosed on promises

They found me lying on the floor.

Reaching for the keys

and they said

“She wanted to see the world”.

But my body saw the future,

Frail bones made friends with time,

I put away my poison

sat plain and proud

With purple letters 

that spell me out

A deer in the garden

Or a tangerine moon

Pleasant surprises