I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy~
anais nin

The Solitude had become a silent prayer

A learning in discernment of my heart
I remained supple and starved
Quiet and Bold
Gathering memories of moments
And reserving them to remind myself that it is possible what once was
A recognition of the soul
Long drawn out days...of falling
Solace in the sincere and tangible senses
How boastful the morning would come
next to me
 eyes half open in lazy desire
I would whisper confessions
and I may have sank into the dissonance
lay against the backdrops of pretty things I have created
Holding my arms above my head
being held against the breath~ of lost loneliness...

~The loneliness that recognized the loneliness
 we were one for those moments
and sank into a different place where time stood still and moved in all directions at once
drawing the curtains to the light standing in the silhouette
I breathe into your mouth
and stay clenched tight until I am weak
The counter part of my soul~

where kisses would leave imprints for days after and I could recall exactly where his lips had been, 
there is an anguish of knowing such warmth 
There was only one who woke me up fervent with the thoughts of his smell, Who I never fully kissed because I felt my heart would enter into a place greater than I had known
 so I would breathe into his mouth my lips barely touching his
 I wanted to pull him deeper in to my being so that his heart could feel all that I was feeling. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The only one who ever knew me...
Everything about my soul felt at home in Paris..there was a feeling of familiarity and ease amongst the chaos, the kissing, the dancing, the fighting, sitting in that fancy hotel looking out the window at people living. I knew I would come back to this place. We sat in a park as the light divided; couples lying on blankets. He and I with our feet propped up watching the life around us...the opera played in the back round and we whispered aloud...is this real? and it was very real, the most real of dreams...art collides with beauty, with light, with love, with senses...