We had the same scars
But different stories,
Makeup on our upper lids and
Deep red lipstick to match our
Type B.
Wonder if the sun flares I found
In your old photographs
Will lead me back to you.
Wonder if our alchemy is
Enough.
“I’m just interested in people on the edges. I feel an affinity for people who haven’t had the best breaks in society. What I want to do more than anything is acknowledge their existence.” -Mary Ellen Mark
• prose
• photography
• worth a thousand
• seduce me
• Submit a light discography
• prose
• photography
• worth a thousand
• seduce me
• Submit a light discography
29
27
The way you watch me,
As though I am the lightening
And your home is ablaze
On the shore.
(by alexis mire)
I would really love to start regularly using the brenizer method, this is my first self portrait using it, if you have any tips they would be greatly appreciated!
I always learn such incredible techniques from this ridiculously talented photographer. Look at this photo! My goodness.
“We held our breath and each other and couldn’t figure out the difference between the two.”—L. H. Gilliam
(Source: gentlemeninarms, via starlinginwinter)
The moonlight shatters me, drawing a blank like I am a bent piece of paper floating relentlessly down a desert road. I’m just a tumbleweed. A major highway flecked with the dead of any one person I’ve ever loved.
But have I loved? Perhaps not fully. I have no desire to feel connected with another membrane because I am influential and easily influenced. An unsteady hand reaching out for what is probably a mirage. A miracle. An awkward moment shared between yellow souls. A sick stomach.
You and I; the antonym of infinity.
My photo final is coming along nicely….said no one ever. This is two of 15 shots I took.
26
Asleep,
Dreaming of the cosmic encounters
Our bodies have with seven human beings a day.
I’ve brushed against so many shoulders, lips, eyes,
Trying to find myself.
And in the pages,
There I am.
26
There’s no ghost
More intruding,
Overtly infinite,
Than the one of
You.
25
A few more sleepless nights,
water under the bridge like
I am a traveler and you are my
Endless road.
24
Her hair was satin,
Stained by the hands of
Pomegranate men and the
Cool, white finish of tapestry paint.
Her aura electric.
I wrote her name in smoke
Six thousand four hundred and sixty six times.
The mountains called for her,
For her, for me.
Weening our bodies from
Back lit computer masks and
The pollution of city smoke.
I could say it was love -
Could.
Won’t.
Love is an island and
She was the shore.