Song's but solace for a day,
Wine's a traitor not to trust,
Love's a kiss and then away,
Time's a peddler, deals in dust.
~ Monday, July 21 ~
Not who are you. Who are we!

(Source: slitinski)

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(Source: extimate)

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~ Friday, July 18 ~

Thursday morning at Dougan Falls with plath-hearted

2 notes
~ Wednesday, July 16 ~
Discovering sex was like discovering writing. It was powerful in a way couldn’t explain. Like writing, you had to go beyond the guilt and shame to get to anything good. Like writing, it could take you to deep and mysterious subterranean levels. With each new depth I found out things about myself I didn’t know I knew. And, like writing, for a slip of a moment it could be spiritual, the cosmos pivoting on a pin, could empty and fill you all at once like a Ganges, a Piazzolla tango, a tulip bending in the wind. I was no one, I was nothing, and I was everything in the universe little and large—twig, cloud, sky. How had this incredible energy been denied me!
— Sandra Cisneros, Guadalupe the Sex Goddess (via mangoestho)

(Source: alrededortuslabios)

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~ Monday, July 14 ~
5 notes
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~ Sunday, July 13 ~



I run my hands up and down my bare thighs in order to center myself. I can feel the friction of my palms pull at the hairs; the muscles tense up and relax, sensitive to the irregular textures of my fingertips: digits that I drag in closer to my crotch, the space between my legs. I’m aroused.

With my hands I can feel myself, be in control of myself, and love myself: aspirations I find to be otherwise, unachievable.

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~ Friday, July 11 ~


Tags: gay men beach
5 notes
~ Sunday, July 6 ~

(Source: perroscalientes)

1,386 notes
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