Also? What’s up with this?

Am I about to start ovulating or something? ROMANCE, bitches.

I think I’ll probably end up with a writer of some sort because there aren’t many romantic gestures that mean much to me, but if you write something for me, I will be yours forever (or you know, some other length of time).

There is nothing about Pablo Neruda physically that makes my girly bits tingle, but the things he writes, lawd.

Confession: I have totally masturbated to Neruda poems.

Potential matches of the world, take note: I will masturbate to your love poems to me if they are good enough.

Two of my favorite Neruda poems:

Your Laughter

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors
of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

SWOON CITY! “Laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you.” It’s like he wrote that line FOR ME because that is so totally what I do… What I want to do…

Your Feet

When I can not look at your face
I look at your feet

Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.

I know that they support you,
and that your gentle weight
rises upon them.

Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.

But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

OOH! That last little stanza makes my icy heart just shrink up in unison with the crinkling of my little, freckled irish nose. SO sweet.

So, write for me. Please, someone amaze me and write me something… Just for me.

Get Yer Share On, Fool

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