We can go slow...

or make it go faster?

Yay Mars!

Curious? Me too!

(Maybe I should put go to Mars on my bucket list?)

Check

Zipline in Las Vegas during The Doors lightshow?

Check.

lookin' like a

little hot mess

I just think it is too perfect that this song finally exists. I'm the definition of a hot mess.

stay and play

Thanks to my roomie I now know this awesome cover! Woot. 

Define “Platonic”

And break it

down to the modern

sense of the word…

where a kiss and a

handshake entertain

a shared worth.

I see that “physical”

is an antonym, so

we must be doing this wrong.

would you?

Lately I've been writing desperate love songs...

Why should I be sad?

Quixotic 

 

She sighs a few syllables at a time. Just to show him that even if she isn't speaking she has all the right feelings. (She's a vacant lover for the taking.) Intuition vibrates in her eardrums; 'Don't take this to heart.” But his mumbles tickle an, “I love you more” across the moon of her jaw. (They'll never be in love, and this is meant to be obvious.) Synapses squeak a weak protest and veins pulse in groans against what she does and does not know about an extended love affair that has lost the element of conquest. And she takes it on the chin, a champ with a smirk. Competing; Kiss for kiss and strum for stroke. Tender touch for each caress, and a nymph’s sigh for every guttural moan he (strategically) lets slide. She holds her ever tempted tongue. Hushing words inside her throat, (hoping to suspend the battle) as his lips lower toward the site of this simple civil war. (Be vacant and beautiful, silly girl.) Syllabic sighs so light the breeze could get carried away. Her heart too tight to arrange letters into words she’ll never say. © 2012 NaivelyMe (All rights reserved)

all i want

postsecret.com via the postsecret app that is no longer in existence 

After the Sunset 

 

Like the moon you must wait to come-- while he, like the sun, warms, touches, burns, an even coat of warmth across this fair skin. Like the moon, you sulk, you cry, (in jealous waves) you pull me to the ocean and wash me in faint light. Like the moon, you view my body as your prize. Gently, like the glaze of night. Like the sun, he shoots heat across my arms, lips, thighs. At noon, he touches cheeks, neck, and under eyes until I'm blind. Like a beach, I spend long days laying under the sun. Basking until sandy skin is red with heat, exhausted and numb. Like the sun, he saunters, on arrogant feet, to the next island, Like the sun, his fingers brush waves of heat across the newest woman. After the sunset, you reluctantly rise throwing white sheets across this heated beach. Like the moon, your jealousy fades, to a dim glow. Brushing fingers across my stained flesh, you kiss ocean, shore, and the sand below. Like the moon, you bleach my body with a coat of snow. I quiver and come to pieces beneath what is right, what is true. And, like the moon, you wait to come. Like the beach, I'm harsh and exhausted from another man's hot love. Because I am a woman, and not a beach, it is always the night when I sleep. Like the moon, you'll emerge tomorrow, hoping I'll understand true love. Like a man, your heart will hollow, at this beach who chooses to ruin herself beneath the heat of the sun. © 2009 NaivelyMe (All rights reserved)