touching showed.

When first we faced, and touching showed
How well we knew the early moves,
Behind the moonlight and the frost,
The excitement and the gratitude,
There stood how much our meeting owed
To other meetings, other loves.

The decades of a different life
That opened past your inch-close eyes
Belonged to others, lavished, lost;
Nor could I hold you hard enough
To call my years of hunger-strife
Back for your mouth to colonise.

Admitted:  and the pain is real.
But when did love not try to change
The world back to itself--no cost,
No past, no people else at all--
Only what meeting made us feel,
So new, and gentle-sharp, and strange?

philip larkin actually is my god.  that cranky old masturbatory librarian.

he is broken and ugly.  and i love him.   23 days til i fly out. 

more tattoos

i am going to try and write slightly more in here. and start a blog for travelling.  the one linked to here, probably not, as it's going to be filled with SMUT and i'd rather keep it nameless and unconnected to people i know, apart from Dom. 

we got tattoos last week; dom a line from a nick cave song on her ribs, and me, a line from Aubade, by Larkin, on mine.  we are going to get more next weekend. it is sort of a birthday thing. i am almost 27, and what am i doing with my life?  i know. getting tattoos with my Lady every other weekend and driving to nowra, and not cooking at home.

i dip in and out of blogging. this is my attempt to start again. i'm not sure how fruitful it will be, and if i feel the need to draw back around myself and not let the world into my mind for a bit. i find it hard not to confess and violate those sorts of quiet spaces that One Should Keep To Oneself. 

it is under a month until america.  and one month exactly until Tucson. this is significant, in a way i'm not sure of, but in a way which makes me both gleeful and embarrassed and apologetic, all at the same time, and leaves me questioning again, how much of an adult i am, and what the Fuck i am doing with myself.