In Love, We Burn

I believe that love that is true and real, creates a respite from death. All cowardice comes from not loving or not loving well, which is the same thing. And then the man who is brave and true looks death squarely in the face, like some rhino-hunters I know or Belmonte, who is truly brave... It is because they make love with sufficient passion, to push death out of their minds... until it returns, as it does, to all men... and then you must make really good love again.

blackwter:

omg

Peonies and Perfection: There aren’t any new episodesThere aren’t any spoilersThere aren’t...

uppereastsidedreaming:

There aren’t any new episodes

There aren’t any spoilers

There aren’t any interviews with the cast

There aren’t anymore gag reels to be seen

There aren’t anymore scandals

There aren’t anymore schemes

There aren’t anymore love scenes

There aren’t any more blasts

There aren’t anymore witty…

Lie to me….

tarnishedsoul:

I don’t care

if your eyes

are filled with

wicked deceit,

I don’t care 

if your lips

are tainted with

sardonic lies.

Part your thighs,

trembling with want,

shiver as my tongue

licks your wet truth.

Moan a name, 

(Pick one, I 

don’t even care)

as you orgasm.

Push your fingers

into my hair,

and pull hard,

asking for more…

your body will

always tell your

wanton honesty

beneath my sheets.

mosacrarules:

Love these two <3

City Love Series - Paris

tarnishedsoul:

Paris,

That’s where we

should have met.

We could spend

a lifetime, hand

in hand, walking

around the Louvre.

Degas, Gaugain

and the rest would

watch us with jealous 

painter’s eyes as we

stroll the Musee d’Orsay.

I would take you to

the very tip top of

the Eiffel Tower and

shower you with

the diamond stars

of a Parisian night.

And we would dance

away our lives in the

small cafes of Montmartre,

as lovers do.

If only we had

met in 

Paris.

alfaazkibarsaat:

She’s this thought

that clings to my lashes

and pulls them up at every 2 a.m.

in bed, when I’m trying to fall asleep.

She’s this gentle breeze 

Raking the leaves 

waking the weeds
in my autumn stained soul
when spring comes along

She’s a silent tug at my heartstrings
when just the sound of her laughter
spills a smile across my lips

She’s a storm.
A celestial.
A whole goddamn sky
full of everything I wish
I could call mine.

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