"Is it okay to use a thesaurus?"
Yeah, be natural. Don't bore us.
If it's a word that you already use;
Have fun, feel free to choose!
Readers of real words adore us!

We are not 'wizards' inscribing arcane slate
If it's not-mode or out of fashion, perhaps wait...
Language is alive!
Cut that antiquated jive!
Don't be that 'word of the day' guy everybody hates


Write, good words!

I strained in my iniquity
Looking for the light
In the mist of my
darkest blackness
a voice whispered
"You have to turn and fight "
Gather up the flocks of words
Make them the sacrifice of your lips
Record what flies through the air
From the axe that's sending chips

Wisdom is what wisdom does
There's no room for shadows of delight
Let you face be baptized
Bathe upon the light

The intelligence of words makes us happy
Much more than the feelings from the heart
Offer up the sacrifice of our lips
Make it the bridge that spans the arch

I’m a bit of a sensualist.

First, let me emphasise emotional resonance,
there has to be an emotional base,
not just an appreciation of hotness.

Then, there’s a sense of longing and mystery—
that male unknowableness.

Don’t forget the hard strength of those rough male edges,
you know, the feeling that he’s kind of sculpted from
a marble that you just want to run your hands over.

And this jet-black hair, the curves and the spiky bits,
casual, careless, not fussy or particular,
and his warm, firm, implacable hands.
Oh, God. Gimmie some.

“Sensuality's connected to desire, ya?” I asked the room (Sunny and Lisa are there, studying).
“It sure is,” Sunny said, flippantly, “and you just need that hot boyfriend of yours to spank it out of you.”
“No,” I winced, “that’s not true.”
“Ooo! I love this song” Lisa said, as ‘try’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS began to play on our Echos.
.
.
Songs for this:
this is what falling in love feels like by JVKE
golden hour by JVKE
.
.
Our cast
Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.

Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff and a high society princess, who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. A (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.

Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).

A cuddle cat thinks she’s soft and kind.
But eating alone in quiet loss, not drinking tender bliss
immersed in sharp sounds, her fur is raised.

The time is not flowing, the time is slowly drowning.
Big eyes disoriented, needing mutation
in epileptic convulsions, knowing
that the weak animals might be consumed.

Dressed in costumes, movements of grace,
gestures she studied with caution, acting out the play.

Now she seems to be a Black Panther
the secret is kept, nobody sees her.
Every role comes at a cost.

Like a pit spit out, the flesh devoured,
no sweetness remains, only the hardened shells.
Welcome invisibility! She’s not prey anymore.

The last totem is her salvation.
The deep-sea-clam, she feels so safe  
bathed by the shape of cold water.