The true Renaissance person is endowed with panoramic attention.... The habit of noticing the ensemble of everything and its constituent parts is a matter of will, not of innate aptitude. It involves the conscious noticing of things and the gaps that separate and connect them.
So close that your hand upon my chest is mine,so close that your eyes close with my sleep.
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So close that your hand upon my chest is mine,so close that your eyes close with my sleep.
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You walked into my heart, Without my permission And the more I've tried to hold on to the control, They deeper you have sunk. Your a love I can't grasp hold of, maybe that's why it scares that absolute shit out of me.
Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad netstowards your oceanic eyes.There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,its arms turning like a drowning man's.I send out red signals across your absent eyesthat smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse.You keep only darkness, my distant female,from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad netsto that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes.The birds of night peck at the first starsthat flash like my soul when I love you.The night gallops on its shadowy mareshedding blue tassels over the land.