Well, I have a new favourite poet.
This fucking poem forced a more emotional responce in me than Shakespeare’s entire body of work.
C’mon, my guy.
My guy, c’mon.
Shakespeare would love this Nael kid, c’mon ;D
and nothing was burning,
nothing but I,
Denise Levertov, from Poems: 1960 – 1967; “Caedmon,”
“I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else.” – John Keats
Louis and Lestat. I doubt there were many quiet moments like this because Lestat is Lestat and does not have an inside voice, but I’m sure Louis appreciates them all the more for their rarity. I always imagine Louis to be fond of bundling up in thick blankets while Lestat wants one thin sheet or nothing at all. When they snuggle outside of their coffins, that is.
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
(Painting Diana Elisabeth Raum, Poem William Blake)
Lestat on Davids Tiger after the Gobi Desert
Our love was like a double-edged sword.
However much I harmed you,
you hurt me,
And I’ve known,
from the scratch of your first kiss,
it would be
my favorite way to bleed.