Leaving our apartment in the middle of the night, so hot even the moon In the video, two men encounter each other as adults and slowly remember the tender love they shared and hid as teenagers. He explains that the relationship that inspired 'That Feeling' was beautiful but filled with shame. To isolate individual moments, asking whyįriend, that stranger, that drinking, those 7 minutes ago &0183 &32 The song marks the first time Jones has publicly addressed his sexuality. I brushed the cat, I went to work, I knew the time it took Standing on the porchįiercely missing my sister, how we used to take the bagĭays lost between the clock and my phone: I made coffee, Grey fog, blue sunlight, stones like big footprintsīut with no feeling. You could smell the day’s heat even before the day began.Ĭonstant trickle, endless green trees flanking the highway: Now who I come to, I come clean to, I come good to. Lozenge of love Medallion of art O wolves of memory Immensements No. I wash the silk and silt of her from my hands. To make the emerald tigers in her hips leap, Move me, break my heart like a clay jar of wine, Unsolvable mysterium-I have to close my eyes to see.Īchilles chasing Hektor round the walls of IliumĪgain the gods put their large hands in me, Through the use of poetic techniques such as repetition. In the photo her fist presses against the red-gold Touched By An Angel by Maya Angelou is a powerful poem that explores the transformative power of love. On fire and in pieces, from the knife’s sharp edge. What is seen and said will never be the same.Įve took the apple in that ache-opened mouth, When the eyes and lips are touched with honey It was Auxocromo, it was Cromóforo, it was Eliza. And I didnt even have love, and its unfair. Like Jacob’s angel, I touched the garnet of her wrist, LA, Im a dreamer, but Im from nowhere, who am I to dream LA, Im upset, I have complaints, listen to me. Gathering grief’s petals she lets fall like horns. Negra llorona.Īlong the clayen banks I follow her-astonished,
My chin held too high and to the side, I run through gruesome imitations of anger, contempt, disgust, sadness, surprise. Sitting on the toilet where light can’t peek through, I pretend the plunger’s a white cane. I wore Mary Janes and high-neck dresses and labeled the shelves “Tuna and Nuts” and “Breakfast Items, Soup.” My hair was always squeaky clean.Īt home, I put on my sunglasses and turn off the lights. There are so many different people to hate, so I keep things simple and hate everyone.
They tuck their hair behind their little ears. Something heartfelt shared by Ex on the Mic sets off a chorus of sniffles among the Exes in Rows. Written sometime in the 1930s by poet Yaacov Orland and set to music by longtime collaborator Mordechai Zeira, Hayu Leilot (There Were Nights) tells an ill-fated love story of pioneers of the Second Aliyah period, narrated by a woman. Sitting in front of me, and behind me, and also to both sides, are more other former girlfriends. At the funeral, his other former girlfriend gives the eulogy.
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