tomorrow we forget because today has never left.
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If there was one thing I could save from the fire,
he said, the broken arms of the sycamore,
the eucalyptus still trying to climb out of the yard—
your breath on my neck like a music that holds
my hands down, kisses as they burn their way
along my spine—or rain, our bodies wet,
clothes clinging arm to elbow, clothes clinging
nipple to groin—I’ll be right here. I’m waiting.

— Richard Siken, Saying Your Names (via whyallcaps)

(via whyallcaps)


basalt | table(s) ~ ymer & malta

(Source:, via dulcisdomus)

(Source: rappcats)

Deafheaven - From the Kettle Onto the Coil