Apologies for the lack of new work posted lately, folks! I’ve been on a bit of a hiatus as I work out my employment situation for the upcoming year. For the time being I’m modeling full time - so lots of new stuff coming! Relatedly, if you’re interested in booking me in January in the Northeast, NY specifically, pop me an email! Elenasangoire at gmail dot com :)
Anonymous asked: I find you very beautiful
Thanks, kind anon!
femmesaxifrage asked: I am real into yr name ! Best art history reference for a model!
Thank you! Points for catching the reference. ;)
Anonymous asked: Are the words with the Craigmac pictures yours or his? Either way they fit your beauty wonderfully. At least to me and yes you can take that as a compliment. - D.L. Wood
Craig captioned all his photos- and I believe they’re all song lyrics.
not eyes, lungs, or liver.
You are not a crucial kidney
or unneeded appendix
and I do not expect you to be
as consistent as the
cycles of the moon.
you are about as necessary
as the spare coins
between the sofa cushions,
where my pockets sing their brimming
harmony against my thighs
with each step.
I do not need you
I do not dream of you as often as
I do about winning the
lottery or space shuttling to
sometimes I even forget about
you completely but
on the nights where I’ve talked myself
into believing that you are
here you come all lit up
like the tail-end of a comet,
streaking across the dark ceiling
of my bedroom and
gets caught between my eyelashes,
underneath my fingernails and the
lifelines of my palms and I am
on fire and the thought
of you is everything and
I am lit up like New York City.
So this is love,
or the beginnings of it:
ashes in the mouth
and glamorous things
like comets and
and other things—terrifying things—
you don’t yet have a name for.
The taste of beauty all burnt
up is not unfamiliar
because this is how love gets done—
in the dark, right under your nose,
in your very cells, a kind of mitosis,
cell division in the heart despite
despite the catastrophes and trying bravely,
foolishly, hopelessly to convince yourself
Kristina H., “The 3 A.M. Love Poem” (via fleurishes)
So beautiful, and true.