What's Your Name; Who's Your Daddy?

A long time ago, a friend of mine told me about Henry James and the idea of the delicate.

I've written about it before.

It's something slow.

Complex.

Flickering and soft in its illumination:

The unraveling question of what a favorite fabric feels like against  your skin

instead of the garish flood light of asking how you like to fuck.

The anticipation of touch will always swell into, and create, a thirst so much more artful than the programmed grasps of scarcity.

Take the time to consider the lines on the tips of your fingers

and what they may feel like

tracing a jawline

you have yet to touch.






Be well; be loved,


k.


P.S. If there is something on my mind that needs figuring out, I'll lose myself in dance.

Dancing.  Watching dance. Both. 

Although this song is old, I've been watching this abbreviated clip of the song with choreography by Max Dbk.  It's been fun to play with.  I like that there are a few tiny elements of boxing, crotch grabs and head clutching peppered throughout.  Follow the leader of it. It's pretty fun. You can watch it, here.

(title: from the end of the Miguel song Don't Look Back)
(image: via Mytessia tumblr)