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love me in Ibiza

Love me in Ibiza. Sunday, July 8, 2012. Where time sometimes trusts love. Brings us back to where we know. Leaving pain blistering and love hanging. In some place that we recognize. Making it real, molding it like clay. Love is what we make it. Love is what we imagine it. Love is what we breathe it. It is what we live. Sometimes the world ends. Sometimes there is a time ticking by. Maybe love lasts three days. Maybe love expires in three days. You are turned up and wrinkled. Left to refurbish what is lost.

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love me in Ibiza | lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com Reviews

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Love me in Ibiza. Sunday, July 8, 2012. Where time sometimes trusts love. Brings us back to where we know. Leaving pain blistering and love hanging. In some place that we recognize. Making it real, molding it like clay. Love is what we make it. Love is what we imagine it. Love is what we breathe it. It is what we live. Sometimes the world ends. Sometimes there is a time ticking by. Maybe love lasts three days. Maybe love expires in three days. You are turned up and wrinkled. Left to refurbish what is lost.

<META> KEYWORDS

1 you child

2 left unsaid

3 love seems easy

4 maybe simple

5 time tempers desire

6 holding our hands

7 holding our breath

8 holding our trust

9 holding our love

10 what is yours

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you child,left unsaid,love seems easy,maybe simple,time tempers desire,holding our hands,holding our breath,holding our trust,holding our love,what is yours,what is love,what is life,where everything expires,link to trifecta,posted by,robin aché,1 comment

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love me in Ibiza | lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com Reviews

https://lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com

Love me in Ibiza. Sunday, July 8, 2012. Where time sometimes trusts love. Brings us back to where we know. Leaving pain blistering and love hanging. In some place that we recognize. Making it real, molding it like clay. Love is what we make it. Love is what we imagine it. Love is what we breathe it. It is what we live. Sometimes the world ends. Sometimes there is a time ticking by. Maybe love lasts three days. Maybe love expires in three days. You are turned up and wrinkled. Left to refurbish what is lost.

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lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com

1

love me in Ibiza: sleep

http://www.lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com/2012/06/sleep-guinevere.html

Love me in Ibiza. Wednesday, June 6, 2012. Where the beds were crawling. Soaked and furious with nappy. Newborn hair, sickness too- -the old fan. Came around and turned his blades. And kin to the rice fields. Not even the nurse. With the nameless hands. Some beds keep crawling. When the porcelain tub was flooding. Plugged with soap and tears. And mother's blue eyes, too. The girl will die. A child-woman, wife and soldier. And refugee born mother. Sheltering silence for you,. This is her alley.

2

love me in Ibiza: gracie square hospital

http://www.lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com/2012/06/gracie-square-hospital.html

Love me in Ibiza. Thursday, June 7, 2012. Do you remember the room. With sallow yellow walls. Thickening time, the recycled. Bed linens, a window. An old woman who. Wet her bed and left. Settling hell and odor. Alive in my room. Numbered graves, some empty. Dressed with starchy sheets. A tempered pillow and blanket. The captain of our vessel. Filled the paper cups. With pink, some white,. Others blue for the dead. To swallow and breathe again. And mumble senseless words. Looking in your eyes.

3

love me in Ibiza: this is her alley

http://www.lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com/2012/06/this-is-her-alley.html

Love me in Ibiza. Tuesday, June 12, 2012. This is her alley. It is the heat, maybe. the sweltering, longing, non-forgiving heat wrapping around you separating comfort from survival, keeping you alive. settled in the bassinet, wrapped in dirty rags, umbilical cord, messy and erect. The girl enters the street, an alley filled with filth. the sounds of loneliness inflate and contract—obvious and not so obvious—she hears it all. The child-woman hears her voice. She hears the woman say. Between you and I.

4

love me in Ibiza: July 2012

http://www.lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com/2012_07_01_archive.html

Love me in Ibiza. Sunday, July 8, 2012. Where time sometimes trusts love. Brings us back to where we know. Leaving pain blistering and love hanging. In some place that we recognize. Making it real, molding it like clay. Love is what we make it. Love is what we imagine it. Love is what we breathe it. It is what we live. Sometimes the world ends. Sometimes there is a time ticking by. Maybe love lasts three days. Maybe love expires in three days. You are turned up and wrinkled. Left to refurbish what is lost.

5

love me in Ibiza: You child

http://www.lovemeinibiza.blogspot.com/2012/07/you-child.html

Love me in Ibiza. Sunday, July 8, 2012. Where time sometimes trusts love. Brings us back to where we know. Leaving pain blistering and love hanging. In some place that we recognize. Making it real, molding it like clay. Love is what we make it. Love is what we imagine it. Love is what we breathe it. It is what we live. Sometimes the world ends. Sometimes there is a time ticking by. Maybe love lasts three days. Maybe love expires in three days. You are turned up and wrinkled. Left to refurbish what is lost.

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love me in Ibiza

Love me in Ibiza. Sunday, July 8, 2012. Where time sometimes trusts love. Brings us back to where we know. Leaving pain blistering and love hanging. In some place that we recognize. Making it real, molding it like clay. Love is what we make it. Love is what we imagine it. Love is what we breathe it. It is what we live. Sometimes the world ends. Sometimes there is a time ticking by. Maybe love lasts three days. Maybe love expires in three days. You are turned up and wrinkled. Left to refurbish what is lost.

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