reverence kyla The horse skull, and the bees. Well, bones and dust-- it's always that sort of thing. What were you saying? I die all the time, all the time, in all the colours. 011018 ... god the dust tiny. coffins... caskets amen. light beam pickle jar buzzing loudly plastic box. hard wooden seat. 011224 ... raze for words and what they weave and for all the days and ways we've yet to wander 220815 ... Bizzar it has been over a year. by almost 3 months. and somehow. you still captivate me. you still surprise me. you still send my mind spinning, drunk on the oxytocin of simply drinking you in. last night, as i sat atop my throne, looking down at you beneath me - and i swear i never feel more beautiful than when you look at me - i was taken over by the memory of the times long before this. of the dreams i used to have of you. the way i had convinced myself that i would only ever see you from this angle in my mind. and how many times i fantasized about this exact moment. and how much more beautiful you are in waking life. the way every inch of you feels like it was carved out to fit me. the way your scent lingers on my skin hours after i leave you, just like the flush on my face, telling onlookers our story. in those moments i sometimes forget you're real. that this is real. that it's ours. 220826 what's it to you? who go blather from