Motorcycle Diaries
I used to listen the bare feet splashing in the ship. And had a feeling of the faces darkened by hunger. My heart was a pendulum between her and the street. I don’t know with what strength I freed myself from her eyes. I broke away from her arms. She was left clouding with tears her anguish, behind the rain and the glass.
(Source: http)
Morning XXVII
(Poem #1263) Morning XXVII
Naked, you are simple as one of your hands, smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round: you have moon-lines, apple-pathways: naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat. Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba; you have vines and stars in your hair; naked you are spacious and yellow as summer in a golden church. Naked, you are tiny as one of your nails - curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born and you withdraw to the underground world, as if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores: your clear light dims, gets dressed - drops its leaves - and becomes a naked hand again.
(via elmundoqueguardoenmi)
DOITGIRL: When Love comes suddenly and tapson your window, run and let it in but...
When Love comes suddenly and taps
on your window, run and let it in but first,
shut the door of your reason.
Even the smallest hint chases love away
like smoke that drowns the freshness
of the morning breeze.
To reason Love can only say,
the way is barred, you can’t pass through
but to the…
Una cosa es enamorarse como un loco, otra enamorarse como un idiota.
—Alejandro Jodorowsky (via escrito-continta)
(via elmundoqueguardoenmi)
(Source: starthandingoutstars, via ameliamagritte)
Sometimes, the hand that feeds you is also holding you captive.
—Ben Irvine on Internet Dead End (via nevver)
(via nevver)
