Sta.sh
:
:t
won a DD so it must be brilliant
. It'll make the article look bad.' At no point. 
You will get better jobs in the real world!
ar
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:iconnaturedivider3plz::iconnaturedivider2plz::iconnaturedivider3plz:
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as much as you like and don't forget to 
the article if you like it!
:thu
Welcome to the seventeenth edition of The Recommended Dosage. This is where you will find new art, old art, overpopular art, and just not popular at all art. I don't have a set of standards or guidelines other than the fact that these are in my top favorites and I want to tell the world of dA. I try not to overrun my features with fandom, but I tend to sneak some in from time to time. If you consider yourself worthy of a future issue, please don't hesitate to note me with samples from your gallery or just say, "hey, come take a look at my stuff".
Now onto the featuring!!!
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Now onto the featuring!!!
:thumb119193719: Romilda y Julieta"The first time I ever
kissed a woman,"
says Julieta,
glass-eyed and
tired-lipped,
"I was fifteen years old."
Anna Rubenstein,
her partner of many years,
touches her fingers to
Julieta's hair.
"It was cold
(we were on a bridge
overlooking the bayou)
and I wasn't
wearing a sweater so Romilda
(that was her name, Romilda)
placed her pacholi smelling
jacket around my shoulders.
I felt like I was getting drunk
on her woody scent. Like I
was drowning..."
Julieta folds her hands and
does not look at Anna.
"And she pulled me close
and I thought I was going
to explode."
"Did you?"
"Yes. I fell in love with
Romilda
:thumb157590551: SkeletonI love to watch your skeleton
As it lives beneath your skin
Your ribcage pushing outwards
While you try to breathe me in.
We can't get much closer
Than the connecting of our hips
And the conversation of our tongues
Behind connected lips.
I'm content with lying
In the corners of your arms
Until the world dissolves us
And our souls take to the stars.
shoot drugs and fall in lovehe bit my bottom lip as our kiss diminished and whispered, "there's something somewhat damaged about you."
he could feel it
i knew he could
but instead of words rolling off of my tongue and tears spilling over
i kissed him
and kissed him
and stroked him
and unbuttoned ...
and he ...
and i ...
.. and
+
we laid on my mattress tangled up in each other
with our eyes glazed over and our chests heaving
(i'm so
high on you
i fucking can't get down)
but you did
+
if i went to rehab i wouldn't tell tales of water bongs and drinking games.
it'd be about how you would make patterns across my jawline and down my neck.
of how you s
green is goldI remember when she was a bird.
They gave her a room under the earth, and all year round she sat between the walls and the ceiling and the floor and struck her flint fingers together, burning cinnamon sticks to stifle the dying leaf smell of her.
One day another girl with fire in her long wheat-blonde hair walked in through a new door and said "I am the last days of summer" and she reached for the girl's hand but the girl couldn't hold on. She said "you are not strong enough" and the summer-girl walked out of the room. The next day she was back, and held on, and let go. This time she left at the girl's feet
insatiable.Insatiable will never mean insatiable again. This is how
I know I've been in love: I am losing
the words to describe it. Insatiable was a word
the heat of your body begged from my hands. Describe
the feeling of being lost in you: insatiable, and every
syllable tastes of sweat, the shape
of every vowel sounds like breathing. Three months later
and I still remember. The night
was so heavy and long and the air
so full of wanting.
:thumb173064438: ravishi.
these are the secrets we keep pressed against the skin of
your thighs and the confessions we dare not release past the
even rhythm of our pulses; this is everything our tongues keep
to themselves beyond the angles of lopsided secret smiles
ii.
these are the badges of honor we keep tucked on the insides
of our collars and in the rolls of our sleeves; this is the faintest
touch of my teeth leaving their mark on your clavicle and
the excuses we make when our distinctions are discovered
iii.
these are the memories we whisper to ourselves in stairwells
and private moments during the car ride home; this is you
closing your eyes an
