yearning.

Let it been known that God's penmanship has been signed with a language called love

____J. Ivy
















i don't have a language for what i want to say right now. we are beyond words. i need you to come here. sit sit sit. here,yes, besides me. i need you to close your eyes and be lost in the music of this (these) moments with me. i need you to feel like you're floating. i'm going to touch you. it's important we rub our cheeks together. and hold hands. it's important i touch your hair, and you mine. it's important we scribble our bodies together so we can't tell the color of one from the other.

you can't know, you can't know just from syllogism, from representation by typographical or linguistic means what i'm saying. (and where am i right now? soo far away. soo deep inside another something)

i close my eyes and write blind.

is there a language anyone's discovered yet to cover transcendence? to cover that feeling that overcomes a person when you find: reflective happiness in some alone time, rather than a reclusive unhappiness with it. i am talking about collapsing inwards from skin to soul, i am talking about love (and it feels a little cardboard because no one is here to kiss me or hug me- no mind, love is alleverything enough that even alone, just the shape and color of the piano in the adjoining room, the distinct vibration of the air in this room, the feel of this couch supporting my back, the intense experience of existence can sometimes be overwhelming...

i'm talking about those insane moments you realize how enormous an idea (a concept) (a conception) it is to just be... to be a be amongst all this dust and sand and to be something that has a voice. a voice seems to me to be a most precious thing.

(god i want to dance right now. it seems only fitting. convulse. exorcise. catharsis. reaffirm.

i want to be big. i know that is a vain thing to say, but i want to be soo freaking god-damned huge, that just one of my fingers is the size of a caldender-month, and an eye brow is a European tour. three of my compliments should amount to universal love, and a kiss from lips to eyelid an atlas of sexuality.

ahh. it is impossible to say just what i mean!

there are no words for this.
words stop at the door of existence. they are for describing, not for feeling. they are for sympathy, not empathy.

if you were here you'd know.
here.

there is something soo incredible about heartbeats at night.