#past loves

[the-wanderer]

[crmsnmth]

Ornamental Mirror

Even if I had had more time Even if I had all of eternity It still wouldn't be enough to explain just what you mean to me I could probably just sum it up and say you are my everything But that seems far far to small

My moon wouldn't glow without the shine of your sun Warmth and life giving, and I am cold and barren But somehow you sleep under my skin and I can feel the kindness that pumps through your heart mixing marrow mixing blood You opened me up and in return I trauma dumped in your lap Sorry bout that

You are the water, the rain, the whole fucking ocean and I could ride your waves right up to the reckoning Judgment day doesn't fucking scare me I've been judged every day of my life but you didn't You took a chance on a hyperactive drunk kid And we formed into something so beautiful ornamental mirrors You'll shatter me in just the same fashion but that's a future me problem and I don't a give a damn about him

You are the oxygen within my lungs keeping me alive, and my cigarette burning Maybe I should take care of this gift you gave me but that went null and void when you said you didn't love me anymore That mirror is in shards and you pick one up and head down the highways on my wrists

[hometoursandotherstuff]

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

Source: Speaking In Whispers; African-American Lesbian Erotica , by Kathleen E. Morris

[everyday-aesthetic101]

[just-some-beautiful-disaster]

Forget-Me-Not Love

Pick each petal one by one, cascade them on the floor. Gaze upon the mess you've made and then you reach for more.

Do they love or love you not? The question seeming clear. Succeeding emotions though, perhaps not. Desire? Lust? Dread? Fear?

But who deemed you decider of which flowers stay or die? Once plucked, the flowers start to fade, unless they're set to dry.

Two paths now lay before you, both beautiful at to look. One gives a sense of immortality, dried petals within book.

Yes, take these lovers, invert and dry or press and lay them flat. These loves now last forever, as faded memories, if that.

The other path, more widely seen, intertwines each love as one. You weave each strand into vibrant art and display all to the sun.

You choose the daisy chain of past loves and wear it proudly as a crown. But once cut, tied, and twisted, every flower wilts to brown.

Please share, flower-picker, which one blossom you will choose. You'll find that juggling many only gives you more to lose.

But focus on one flower and try to treat it right. My advice is not to pick it, give it water, give it light.

Do not worry about the petals, whether they love or love you not. Trust its growth and let it bloom, and it will forget-you-not.

[clandestina]

I’ve lost count of the hours I’ve spent poring over the concept of ‘time,’ a steady stream

of seconds flowing forward from the past, a truth that is not yours nor mine.

No; our time moves like two hands of a clock, giving chase and meeting only to part.

It crawls slow in between conversations and runs fast between words— In a minute, we’re scaling rapids, back in a riptide of emotions, In another, an ocean of hours and silence between our shores.

But maybe the fault isn’t yours but mine, for disturbing the water that asks to remain still,

and thinking this time, the timing will be right— a truth that is never ours.