Hours and minutes in digital are now dead. Dreaming delightfully in bed. Time, without his arms where her head rests in satiation, endures forever. But as her head, finally, slumbers alongside his: time sprints. Each minute, their souls collide against the salty Earth. And every hour turns into a figment of mirth.
Don't stare at her with those piercing orbs. You see, her insides tremble. But in a beautiful beat. Hold her close to your chest, cling onto her torsos, castrate your doubts, carry her heart. But no, don't leer at her with those cursing glare. Connive with her curves. Convey through her hips.
Half a day has now ended. Bullets through their mouths, bended. His arms, but without her resting head, and without satiety. She has slumbered alongside his head, finally. Time endured. Time sprinted. Each and every soul has evacuated into a black hole. Rewind, unwind. Forward, wayward.
SYNCHRONICITY.
Author
Eяin Heяoin
2 comments
red the mod
said...
June 22, 2010 at 8:19 AM
Erin, you continually and unfailingly amaze me. I wish I could write with such fluid sensuality as you do.
Eяin Heяoin
said...
June 22, 2010 at 11:28 AM
Yay, well, thanks Red.
I write what I feel and I add lots of grandiose imagination in it. I'm glad a few persons, other than my other half, recognize the way I write. I may appear nonsense to most people but I don't know. This is how I express myself.
Thanks, you write BETTER than I do. :)
I write what I feel and I add lots of grandiose imagination in it. I'm glad a few persons, other than my other half, recognize the way I write. I may appear nonsense to most people but I don't know. This is how I express myself.
Thanks, you write BETTER than I do. :)
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A Nonspatial Continuum
Hours and minutes in digital are now dead. Dreaming delightfully in bed. Time, without his arms where her head rests in satiation, endures forever. But as her head, finally, slumbers alongside his: time sprints. Each minute, their souls collide against the salty Earth. And every hour turns into a figment of mirth.
Don't stare at her with those piercing orbs. You see, her insides tremble. But in a beautiful beat. Hold her close to your chest, cling onto her torsos, castrate your doubts, carry her heart. But no, don't leer at her with those cursing glare. Connive with her curves. Convey through her hips.
Half a day has now ended. Bullets through their mouths, bended. His arms, but without her resting head, and without satiety. She has slumbered alongside his head, finally. Time endured. Time sprinted. Each and every soul has evacuated into a black hole. Rewind, unwind. Forward, wayward.
SYNCHRONICITY.
Don't stare at her with those piercing orbs. You see, her insides tremble. But in a beautiful beat. Hold her close to your chest, cling onto her torsos, castrate your doubts, carry her heart. But no, don't leer at her with those cursing glare. Connive with her curves. Convey through her hips.
Half a day has now ended. Bullets through their mouths, bended. His arms, but without her resting head, and without satiety. She has slumbered alongside his head, finally. Time endured. Time sprinted. Each and every soul has evacuated into a black hole. Rewind, unwind. Forward, wayward.
SYNCHRONICITY.
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Born in the mid-80s, Erin Herøin is a marveller of non-sequitur writing, cinematic films, & analogue photography.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Erin, you continually and unfailingly amaze me. I wish I could write with such fluid sensuality as you do.
ReplyDeleteYay, well, thanks Red.
ReplyDeleteI write what I feel and I add lots of grandiose imagination in it. I'm glad a few persons, other than my other half, recognize the way I write. I may appear nonsense to most people but I don't know. This is how I express myself.
Thanks, you write BETTER than I do. :)