Overflowing skies of squandered stars splendour over grievance. Rather than into pillows, weep upwards. Here, at the weeping, at the ending face
Rainer Maria Rilke, Poems to Night
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Love Begins
RMH
d e v o n
Mike Driver
art blog(derogatory)
wallacepolsom
cherry valley forever
Peter Solarz
Stranger Things
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Keni
trying on a metaphor
Jules of Nature

JBB: An Artblog!
DEAR READER
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Acquired Stardust


seen from United States

seen from Netherlands

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Italy

seen from Canada
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Canada

seen from Türkiye

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
@talestalesof
Overflowing skies of squandered stars splendour over grievance. Rather than into pillows, weep upwards. Here, at the weeping, at the ending face
Rainer Maria Rilke, Poems to Night

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I don't reproach you. We must stop reproach. Isn't that the point? Before my open or my shutting eye something mighty always seethes ahead as if it were the sea. I think it is the sea.
Joseph Brodsky, Conversations about the Sea
Charles Bukowski, this one
Alex Dimitrov, from Ecstasy
How thirsty you are. God's cataract plunges through every vein. How you can be so thirsty. Abandon yourself to thirst. (How you have grasped me.)
Rainer Maria Rilke, Poems to Night

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
His hand to brush a mark from his face it was her face.
Hesitate, oh hesitate.
Anne Carson, The Beauty of the Husband
He sought her in the word mistress but she wasn't there, he should have sheltered in that doorway from the beginning but now it was night.
He made night seek her too.
Possible night, impossible night, pegs, strings, stringing her to her own impersonation of him.
Anne Carson, The Beauty of the Husband
Charles Bukowski, this one
You took my ring and threw it in the garbage I've been looking thru the garbage ever since if you find yourself beside the city dump sometime you'll find it covered with my fingerprints
Leonard Cohen, from The Flame
Le Feu Follet , Louis Malle ,1963.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I wait for you in the springtime of beatings and gross unnecessary death. Direct me out of this, O magnet of the falling cherry petals. Make a truce between my disgust and the impeccable landscape of fields and milky towns. Crush my swollen smallness, infiltrate my shame.
Leonard Cohen, Book of Mercy
To keep the mind from getting scorched by horrid, all-consuming malice; and if we both were saved from such a fate and didn't drink this chalice of jealousy, dark omens, lies, spoils, comets, opiates, pure menace, it was in order to entice us in the end to sketch its semblance.
Joseph Brodsky, A Song to No Music
My voice is still prophetic to your mind, like stories narrated by Scheherazade
Joseph Brodsky, A Song to No Music
Charles Bukowski, from Love is a Dog From Hell

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
So long had life together been that once the snow began to fall, it seemed unending; that, lest the flakes should make her eyelids wince, I'd shield them with my hand, and they, pretending not to believe that cherishing of eyes, would beat against my palm like butterflies.
Joseph Brodsky, Six Years Later
So long had life together been that now the second of January fell again on Tuesday, making her astonished brow lift like a windshield wiper in the rain, so that her misty sadness cleared, and showed a cloudless distance waiting up the road.
Joseph Brodsky, Six Years Later