“Well you can’t just stop there, now you have to tell me the next verse.”
“It kind of ruins the whole poem, at least this translation does. They talk about saliva.”
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@missingtrevor
“Well you can’t just stop there, now you have to tell me the next verse.”
“It kind of ruins the whole poem, at least this translation does. They talk about saliva.”
“So, you’re a musician, eh? I dig musicians and accents”
“Ah... it was a poem, but yes.” Trevor wasn’t so shy to admit. “I like to play music.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like practice makes perfect when it comes to poetry. If you suck, you can write a thousand poems and still suck.” He said, brows raised. And this side of him, the pretentious, stuck-up scholar, hadn’t seen daylight in awhile, but still Tony slipped right back into it so easily.
“Is... is that... really?” Trevor hadn’t realized writing didn’t work like, well, everything else. “You’re being honest though? Not just humble.” He had to chuckle, not taking his word for it immediately.
“I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.” He teased, laughing. It was strange, to talk about this so candidly with someone. It had been awhile. “Yeah, I do. Not a lot, and it’s shit, but I still do.”
He shows a simple smirk, agreeable enough, and continued to toss aside children’s books and long expired volumes of Chicken Soup for the Soul. “I don’t see how it could be horrible, since you’ve been interested for so long.” Trevor digressed. “We’re all our own worst critics anyway.”
“Oh, yeah, you won’t have any luck with that here. Last one I saw was at the university. Mm, for fun, yeah. When I was in school poetry was kind of my area, I guess. But that never panned out, so now it’s just a hobby.”
“You know your stuff.” He chuckled, only surprised since it seemed the man knew where to find specific volumes in the city. “So you wrote poetry?” Trevor wrote some for his tutors long ago, but it was a chore like everything else and not good. “Or, uh, write? Still?”
“No, probably not. So you into poetry then? Or just familiar with Baudelaire?”
“I’d look for a volume in French, but let’s be honest that’s asking for far too much. I enjoy reading in general, passes the time especially at work. Yourself?”
“Well yeah, when you’re using Aggeler’s translation. I always liked Piaget Shanks’ myself. I mean, the rhyming seems cheesey, but it feels more true to the original to me. And it doesn’t mention spit.”
“Yeah the saliva comment just throws everything off. Still, I don’t think there will be too many versions of Baudelaire in this dollar stack.”
“All that is not equal to the poison which flows From your eyes, from your green eyes, Lakes where my soul trembles and sees its evil side... My dreams come in multitude To slake their thirst in those bitter gulf--”
“‘Next verse gets a bit awkward.”
Tall, dark, and handsome is a pretty common thing to be attracted to.
“So I’ve heard.”
You're as dense as concrete.
“How so, grey ball?”
I'm just saying he'd let you break all the windows in his house if it meant you'd stick around to fix them. He's got the hots for you.
“I’m not a fan of making an ass out of myself and since we met that’s all I’ve done. Granted, it was my fault, but with him breathing down my neck... He has interesting taste.”
Yeah, the window, but you probably left his ego in pieces. Or his heart.
“I can’t tell if you’re being overly-sensitive or dramatic... probably both.”
Way to be an asshole, dude. You know the doc was hitting on you, right?
“The doctor... oh, that was awhile ago. I fixed what I broke, so what’s the problem?”
Why are you so hot?
“I was born this way~”
“… I blame Valentine and his work playlist.”
I crave touch, yet I flinch every time someone is close enough.
(via before-it-ends-me)