#before parting

[serapholy]

Before going to sleep and in honor of Sunday, here is a lewd headcanon because this girl has her needs too and she can™.

Thyia appreciates hugs, specially from those who are bigger than her. She likes the comfort of feeling protected, the soft plush of muscles she can lean on. Give her that and she'll be the happiest.

[findepartida]

A month or twain to live on honeycomb Is pleasant; but one tires of scented time.

Algernon Charles Swinburne, Poems and Ballads, "Before Parting"

[missedstations]

"Before Parting" - Katharine Coles

Neither of us can guess if they’ll hurry dusk along, those clouds that have loitered all afternoon over the rooftops. From our window the row of backyards appears, and one by one sparrows lift from the trees and abandon themselves to wind. No empty cupboard sends me out in this weather to market, but a restlessness, the storm, and your notion of apples completing a white bowl, candlelight adrift on their skins. On the table, only that lies between us, between our two knives parting the meat; and after dinner we watch every other moment the sky open into fragile light. For those short illuminations we hover near the window. We want each other to believe that distance can’t change us. The sparrows also rustle, nervous, returning to the eaves. When we pass them over each others bodies, our hands hesitate as they never have, as if we considered for the first time, what might happen to anything that leaves our fingers.

[idratherbereading]

A month or twain to live on honeycomb Is pleasant; but one tires of scented time, Cold sweet recurrence of accepted rhyme, And that strong purple under juice and foam Where the wine’s heart has burst; Nor feel the latter kisses like the first. Once yet, this poor one time; I will not pray Even to change the bitterness of it, The bitter taste ensuing on the sweet, To make your tears fall where your soft hair lay All blurred and heavy in some perfumed wise Over my face and eyes. And yet who knows what end the scythèd wheat Makes of its foolish poppies’ mouths of red? These were not sown, these are not harvested, They grow a month and are cast under feet And none has care thereof, As none has care of divided love. I know each shadow of your lips by rote, Each change of love in eyelids and eyebrows; The fashion of fair temples tremulous With tender blood, and colour of your throat; I know not how love is gone out of this, Seeing that all was his. Love’s likeness there endures upon all these: But out of these one shall not gather love. Day hath not strength nor the night shade enough To make love whole and fill his lips with ease, As some bee-builded cell Feels at filled lips the heavy honey swell. I know not how this last month leaves your hair Less full of purple colour and hid spice, And that luxurious trouble of closed eyes Is mixed with meaner shadows and waste care; And love, kissed out by pleasure, seems not yet Worth patience to regret.

"Before Parting," Algernon Charles Swinburne