09.03.2004
The Cuffs
I have your head to think about, your hairy legs—when I open those Your job, too. It opens at your belly, oxford shirt; your skin The snow goes off nothing even walking the white line home, drunk or enormous, the railway station we make out of the projects, and dogs between the trees. Going with you [...]
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After Barthes
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01.24.2004
The Cuffs
I am engulfed. I succumb. I am dissolved, not dismembered; I fall, I flow, I melt. It is a gentle abyss, and the lover is absolved of any responsibility for the act. There is no longer any place for me anywhere, not even in death. It is an excessive happiness which enables me to unite [...]
Tagged as:
After Barthes
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