tv slut

sometimes i feel like my macbook is my life.

what good is love, if no one shares?

riding the orange wave

voted.
waiting.

mtrl

he kissed my fingers, he kissed my hair.

benign weather, tralala

looking forwards.

looking backwards.

fólk

eu sinto falta do meu pai

write about your fathers hands.

autoerotique

civilian

photography by eliot lee hazel

he refused to brand his cattle

a streak of stubborn independence

We used to wait [for it]

intro

soft and hard skills.

thighs

powder shock

extremities freeze

adrenalin splash

crashcrashcrash

tension

maybe we weren't meant for this love

write about sunday afternoon

She didn’t examine her body for bruises, or not until sunday afternoon, 
standing in a shaft of sunlight, dust illuminated, her skin covered in downy hairs 
-lifting as her fingertips brush by- caressing the purlpegreenblue of that night, 
bared teeth and curled lip, sprawled, she remembers, 
it doesn’t matter where the lace is worn what matters is where you bruise.

sprawl

the lust of the new.