Margaret Atwood.
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Margaret Atwood.
I pull you in close, our skin pressed together, and I whisper in your ear that you're mine.
I think I'd like to wake up beside you in the middle of the night. The room cold but our body radiates a gentle warmth. I can't really see you except for what's illuminated by the thinnest slivers of light passing through the blinds. I'm close to drifting back to sleep but I know you're there beside me. That's all the fantasy is. No passionate sex or grand displays of romance. Just the comfort of waking up next to someone you care for, and falling asleep next to them. Their presence is everything, those moments are everything.
touch starved and
hungry for
a love
that only
souls understand
‘hungry’ poetry by matthew marcel
Fyodor Dostoevsky
I am the wound and the blade, the torturer and the flayed.
Charles Baudelaire, 'The Flowers of Evil'.
Friedrich Nietzsche.