iceland

i feel a void.

but also, i'm in love:

"Our Heroine woke to the sound of snowflakes, plaughtting against the window, perfect stellar dendrites that shattered as they crashed against the glass. Through a too-dry throat she groaned at them -- some Adamic word of banishing -- but it was fruitless, and the snow's frigid spirit managed nonetheless to translate itself across the pane. From there it pressed on through blankets, quilts, and sheets to possess Our Heroine buried nude beneath. She shivered, let a yawn well through her body, and as she stretched herself out among the farthest reaches of bed, she felt the acids built up in her limbs; she felt how far she could stretch without touching anything at all.

"She had not been alone upon her alcoholic fall into sleep, though she found herself so now... The quilts and comforters curled around her still smelled of him -- clean and fleshy, like soap made from bacon fat -- and his head had left a pillow-dent, but the body itself was lacking. She pulled one last whiff of him in through her nostrils, and then again, across the roof of her mouth, she sounded her barbaric yawn. Song of herself."

-Icelander, Dustin Long



my mind's pallette welcomes and savors these words like slow bites of buttery, chocolate dessert, taken sensually off warm spoons with soft lips and delicate tongues -- in reality, something this decadent doesn't appeal to me, for all its too-sweet overindulgence. but rich words are another story...

i live for anything worth savoring.