Drunk on gin, high on euphoria, eyes
Closing as ice plays cacophonous
Applause on the sides of
Your glass, your hand coming unglued
Tentatively touching forbidden neck
Leaving apologetic drips of water on
Collarbones, bleeding down skin until it hits
My chest as you hold your
Breath – somehow this moment
Means more than the rest
3AM Thoughts // AKA “With Best Intentions, Against Better Judgement.”
I who had opened your wound bit on it — did you feel me?
As into the gold of a honeycomb I bit.
// Delmira Agustini
I slept with him and stole
His photos – he saw them reproduced and
Blamed me for
Appropriating his intellect, claimed
I had stolen his essence; scorned me for being
Devoid of ethics.
I sent him a reply months later by post
Asking him why he abhorred my actions of
Deceit when he had so adored the
Same insidiousness between sheets.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “The Hypocrisy of Men.”
Regenerative experiences: Plunge into the sea. The sun. An old city. Silence.
// Susan Sontag
It is all happening, here and now, the past is waiting for me, it has the blue colour of her eyes.
// Bo Carpelan
I regard and respect the genuinely human, living with nature — not going against nature — as refinement. I ask, what most makes me a human being.
// Vincent van Gogh
I remember her body like Corradini
Hard as stone until caressed, brought to
Life under nimble fingers, made soft, angelic
Vengeful Medusa, nimble queen
Elusive garden surrounded by
Rose-filled walls you would be
Best off not to climb, esa rosita tiene espinas
The smell she exudes is always
Tender, but even honey tastes sweet until
You feel the sting, enchanting with a smile like a
Lighthouse, shining through the darkness to
Help everyone else, never thinking to keep
Enough to save herself
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Strong Bones, Made for Storms.”
There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it.
// Gustave Flaubert
Tell me more of addiction
He says, picking nails at the
End of the bed as I stretch
Emitting purrs like a feline
Languidly checking my back for
Answering his question
Through intentional absence
As the daylight crawls and
Falls over the sandstone walls
3AM Thoughts // AKA “A Habit, A Destructive Vice, A Toll.”
And are you in love? And are you happy? And do you sometimes write a poem? And have you had your hair cut? And have you met anybody of such beauty your eyes dance, as the waves danced?
// Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Quentin Bell