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Cody Ross Romero. Albuquerque, NM.
  Everyone, Pompeii, 79 A.D. (via thisisthedroidyouarelookingfor)

(Source: ahkep, via edgarwhitmanwilde)


american horror story: straight white boys

  Rainer Maria Rilke, from You, Darkness  (via poupeesolitaire)

(Source: the-final-sentence, via wahng)

I’d like to keep it secret and hold it beneath my tongue.
We met on no specific street, in no particular neighborhood.
It was sometime in April. 
We also met the first time I became aware of the smell
of your body at the nape, where your hairline cuts across the back of your neck.
It was a rigid line, most weeks.

The airport terminal, the shore near the cove, and once in a kitchen that was hot from the stove burning are all places we met, and places
I would come to forget you, to escape from the thought of
your breathing, and the sound of your waking sigh.
I cannot forget the first time I heard that,
the first morning, on a nondescript day in late spring.

Do the details start to slip when you try to recall them?
Some things are crisp. You wore a black shirt,
there’s a freckle in one of your eyes,
But what did you say when we parted?
What did you see?

At night something surfaces from memory,
the tone of a dream changes. 
You’re meeting me again here.
I’ll remember everything. How you hold your head,
the roughness of your palms.
There’s not a part worth forgetting.

I’ve tried to erase you, scrubbed you from my skin
with a wire brush until I bled, but you’re deeper
than that.
The place you live now is in my steady fingertips,
or like a secret in the corner of my mouth.