Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
//walt whitman, from "song of myself"
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let it always be known that i was who i am
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saccharomyces) wrote on April 25th, 2011 at 07:20 pm
saccharomyces) wrote on April 25th, 2011 at 07:20 pm
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.