For complextapestry
Mar. 20th, 2022 04:59 pmI was reading about Frida Kahlo and her husband:
Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightning. The dampness of the earth.
This doesn't compare to you. The wickedness in your smile. The way your eyes light up with the passion you feel for protecting others. When you touch me I feel electricity on my skin, skittering down my spine until I'm alive with it.
In case you weren't aware, I'm sitting in a meeting pretending to take copious notes.
Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightning. The dampness of the earth.
This doesn't compare to you. The wickedness in your smile. The way your eyes light up with the passion you feel for protecting others. When you touch me I feel electricity on my skin, skittering down my spine until I'm alive with it.
In case you weren't aware, I'm sitting in a meeting pretending to take copious notes.
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