thekingoflosthope: “And yet to wine, to opium even, I prefer the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself; and in the wasteland of desire your eyes afford the wells to slake my thirst.”” —  Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal 

memoryslandscape: “A gentle breeze leans in to offer truth. Leaves refuse to listen, each its own shimmering deity, little gods among a larger God.” — Greg Sellers, from “Anderson’s Matins with a Brush in One Hand,” Interdisciplinary Humanities (vol. 21, no. 1, 2004)