elisaenglish

[elisaenglish]

-Dante Gabriel Rossetti, La Bella Mano (1875)-

[elisaenglish]

Poutier than the average bear, but it seems I can smile—for blessings, pour la contemplation de l’éternité dans le mouvement même de la vie, for love, for everything from which I’ve run—for miracles that mean that she is breathing.

[elisaenglish]

Etched, impressed, ingrained...

[elisaenglish]

Unravelled is the mystery poised in light of peace to roam...

[elisaenglish]

This Underbelly of Wild Content

“i want your heart, and i think i mean to eat it.”

-Taylor Steele, Brown Sex-

Some time after the night-neoned frenzy distills to instinct, I am in your arms. Teeth-deep, unshackled, it takes the flesh alive, this wolf without its clothes. To tread a primal line must be why the mouth is always first. But there’s no stopping. Here, an apex reaped demands the cry of bodies savage sown. Or in the rising light, a howl as it unfurls against your throat. We cannot end but—God, we prey ourselves and reach for mercy.

[elisaenglish]

Marianne Faithfull as Ophelia at the Roundhouse, London in 1969.

[elisaenglish]

Subscribed As in Faith to the DNR

“I want a named, holy thing to fuck my brains out, to turn my need to be filled up and spread out and hungry...

I want to cuss my lover’s name in ecstasy and have it be the prayer I always hoped it was”

-Caroline Randall Williams, Transubstantiate, Redux or, Sublimating Lucy Whilst At Church-

Receipt of your lips by nightshade dreamed, I profess to that death via tongues...

[elisaenglish]

-Paul Cézanne, Mont Sainte-Victoire with Large Pine (1887)-

[elisaenglish]

That we flirt is the art, that it’s solely with each other is the gift—one that we may give and give forever...

[elisaenglish]

Even Cleopatra Begs to Be Undone

“I know that what I am feeling is serious and has the power to destroy me. Because—because it is as though I were telling myself that the kingdom of heaven is now.”

-Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G.H.-

There are no limits to my devastation, posits love. I am the near-death as we are one, abrupt edge, anti-establishment, voice come to take your pieces whole. Who has control? Who wields the darker art? Agonies conveyed as last rites, sublimated joy, the lofty crash because you can’t be high on fucking ghosts. Although we are, more oft than not. There, inside the blackest kernel, gone before the asp concocts her poison. Still you drink it down, embrace the grave mistaked for rest. But stay. I have my own request—I, too, am on this ledge. By grace, you have my heart.

[elisaenglish]

-Iliyana Ilieva, Sad Romance (2017)-

[elisaenglish]

Caught in the Moment With You

“I want you to hang up, defy the gods, / touch me. I’m downright ravenous.”

-Cynthia Miller, Eurydice Video Calls Her Lover in Lockdown-

The night swells with abandon. I’m partial to us quite insane, lovers of all invention, flames, revolt—let’s call it kindred storm—raising up a repertoire of us...

[elisaenglish]

I love you in time. I will love you until the end of time. And when the time is up, then I will have loved you. And nothing of this love, like nothing that has been, can ever be erased.

[elisaenglish]

You Make of Me

I preface this with reference merely to the fact that I wrote it at weird o’clock and am clearly dialled up to eleven when it comes to fidelity. Me, hovering somewhere between devotion repurposed (he was never as discreet as he thought he was about it) and holding your heartbeat between my teeth. O captain, my captain, what a bizarre conundrum love does weave—here, in me, and ever. But resolved. (I’m no more his than of tame inspired) Passioned. (Some things you can’t take back) You I’m holding onto (miles past parentheses)—in rhyme or erstwhile knot.

I do this while you sleep, your breath a quiet ecstasy, I feel it in my lungs. Feel it there, past flesh, to bone. Embedded. As a page unbound, an artful night shall flee its shroud. Should I, dear love, this story write? Chase the moon, propel the tides? Bared to all, you are my light—I’m free to only you.

[elisaenglish]

-Charles-Amable Lenoir, Pandora (1902)-

[elisaenglish]

-William Blake, A Vision of the Last Judgement-

There is always somewhat of an illogic to the fantasy. Then again, forever for me means for ever—and we are real, corporeally so but also by sense, feeling, combinatorial reaching, an individuation that transcends itself; the rare choice, if you will. And, I do: reach, choose, transcend. Phenomenology of self is its own reward. But creation? Practice? It’s a reciprocal flow. Complements wrought. A locus, meaning. In all regards. For this comprises love. Hence from me to you.

[elisaenglish]

A Matter of Taste

On a scale of there's no scale, there’s only you—we attract entirely what we are...