oh take this longing
from my tongue all the useless things these hands have done let me see your beauty broken down like you would do for one you love.
And if he had judged her harshly? If her life were a simple rosary of hours, her...– Joyce, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
what you used to do to me
I’m new to this blogging thing. The impulse came to me because the thoughts, tastes and images of a life swirl and eddie like smoke, linger and then dissipate only to mingle, unseen, with the surrounding world. and so i thought maybe this could be a place to in them down, to map out the labyrinth of words and colours that make up the walls of this small life. but i’m really not sure...