Every Time I Wrote Your Name, I Lied. Every Time I Wrote Your Name, It Was The Truth.

My flesh, my home 🦪 🫧

Mary Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

Golden Touch by Clayshaper

— inspired by Hugues Merle’s Mary Magdalene in the Cave (1868)

Claudia Delfina Cardona, from "I am always busy wanting other lives"

RUSSIAN DOLL 2.07

“A nymph came pirouetting, under white Rotating petals, in a vernal rite To kneel before an altar in a wood Where various articles of toilette stood.”

— Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire (via starpleiades)

food as a metaphor for existence, food as a love language, food as just food (poetry recommendations)

September Tomatoes by Karina Borowicz

Ode to Tomatoes by Pablo Neruda

I Ask My Grandmother If We Can Make Lahmajoun by Gregory Djanikian

Here, There Are Blueberries by Mary Szybist

The Orange by Wendy Cope

Oranges by Gary Soto

From Blossoms by Li-Young Lee

Persimmons by Li-Young Lee

Eating Together by Li-Young Lee

Self-Portrait as So Much Potential by Chen Chen

Chasing Utopia by Nikki Giovanni

In the Kitchen by Chen Jun

Food by Brenda Hillman

Miss you. Would like to grab that chilled tofu we love. by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

I love you. I want us both to eat well by Christopher Citro

Baked Goods by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Bread by W. S. Merwin

buy me a coffee

Tuscany, Italy

(via)

Bedtime Stories. Juila Banas photographed by Stefano Galuzzi for The Edit, March 9, 2017.

Jill Osier, “Small Town”

[text ID: Listen. The rug is wet because I stood here. Because it started pouring. Because your door was open and I was under a tree. Because it was raining. Because the rain and tree both were in your backyard. Because so was I. Because you weren’t home. Because I knew you were bowling. Because  I walk your road. Because your road goes by your house. Because I felt like a walk. Because it was going to rain. Because your door is never locked.]