Anonymous asked: What is shoulder downtempo?

Thank you for reading, look below! v

davidfincher asked: "and your shoulder, downtempto" These words have been repeated in your other poems in the past. It's beautiful. What does it mean to you?

Funny you ask, so did another ^

Over the years, I’ve put names to things that don’t necessarily need names. But for the sake of dictated poetry, I take these liberties and cram words next to words to describe phenomena I am fascinated by. Maybe I’ll make a key for the names of things that move me. Thank you for being so attentive. 

Shoulder downtempo is the [preferably] strategic or completely unintentional transmittance of energy from one person’s shoulders to my heart. Every single person houses most of his energy in a unique place in his body. It’s simple to pick up—observe another for a brief period of time, and see where he is most cognizant of, and yet most vulnerable, most reactive, most antithetically poised.

The shoulders are my favorite part of a man. And if it so happens to be the place he stores most energy, I find it absolutely magnetic. 

I put my hand over her mouth and told her not to yawn. I tried to tell her how excited I was about life and the things we could do together…

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(via thegreatpacific)

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(via therealcollective)

“Promise,” by Ben Howard

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My friends are gamblers, 
they make
a mockery of me, when I
tableside
lose interest in the game

There’s my cue—
we’re thankful they’re
unsuspecting to
the real game
taking place
not with petty change, but 
the gamble between my eyes
and your shoulder
downtempto

(via therealcollective)

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Gorgeous.

(via therealcollective)

ohhlanguageisdead asked: You have a phenomenal blog, and a way with words!

And from someone named “ohhlanguageisdead,” what an honor!

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.

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A daddy and his girl. 

(via ottawaquin)

“Tiff,” by Poliça 

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em-busca-do-equilibrio:

Jane Goodall

(via penseesduchoeur)

Beach Baby | Bon Iver

Tell your lucky one
To know that you’ll leave

It was a pleasure to burn.