“do you have a poem for me
a rose wrapped in the pages of an old thrifted book
yellowing and with frayed corners
once belonging to a beautiful stranger
do you have a rose for me
a poem grown out of the fertile ground
the womb of mother nature
dipped red in the lust of centuried hands”— a poem (via mattynoir)
me? I have achievable dreams, like becoming a handmaid of aphrodite and spending the rest of eternity lounging with nymphs in streams and making mortals fall in love with each other.
