Beauty makes me hopeless. I don’t care anymore why I have to get away. When I look at the city of Paris I long to wrap my legs around it. When I watch you dancing there is a heartless immensity like a sailor in a dead-calm sea. Desires as round as peaches bloom in me all night, I no longer gather what falls.

Anne Carson, Prose Poems: On Hedonism
(via violentwavesofemotion)