a pleasure to burn       /      about       enquire       explore      read      listen

Book are finite, sexual encounters are finite, but the desire to read and to fuck is infinite; it surpasses our own deaths, our fears, our hopes for peace.

— Roberto Bolaño, Literature + Illness = Illness

July 30, 2014 at 0:37

Making love with you
is like drinking sea water.
The more I drink
the thirstier I become,
until nothing can slake my thirst
but to drink the entire sea.

— Kenneth Rexroth, The Love Poems of Marichiko: VII

July 29, 2014 at 21:29

by Codrina C.

July 29, 2014 at 21:28

by Lara Alegre

July 29, 2014 at 17:05

…most of all, I’d like to have all the time there is just for you, for thinking about you, for breathing in you.

— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

July 27, 2014 at 20:44

goldensupremety: Your blog reminds me of what freedom would taste like if it were a flavor of ice cream.

My mind has been blown.

July 27, 2014 at 18:19

Anonymous: I am in love with your blog. Let's have tea and talk for hours.

I’m all yours as long as that tea is iced.

July 27, 2014 at 1:21

by Obi Wolf

July 24, 2014 at 21:16

Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I’m drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.

To hell with the saints, with the martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.

I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I’m nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it.

— Kim Addonizio, For Desire

July 24, 2014 at 21:15

by Ian Brooke

July 24, 2014 at 21:14

July 24, 2014 at 19:45

Some people,
no matter what you give them,
still want the moon.

The bread,
the salt,
white meat and dark,
still hungry.

The marriage bed
and the cradle,
still empty arms.

You give them land,
their own earth under their feet,
still they take to the roads.

And water: dig them the deepest well,
still it’s not deep enough
to drink the moon from.

— Denise Levertov, Adam’s Complaint

July 24, 2014 at 1:42

by Masashi Wakui

July 24, 2014 at 0:17

I remember your eyes: fifty attack dogs on a single leash.

— Jeffrey McDaniel, from Letter To The Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back

July 23, 2014 at 23:39

by Tamara Lichtenstein

July 23, 2014 at 23:31