To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope.

When they made love Geryon liked to touch in slow succession each of the bones of Herakles' back as it arched away from him into who knows what dark dream of its own, running both hands all the way down from the base of the neck to the end of the spine which he can cause to shiver like a root in the rain.

Poetry - poiesis means a thing made.

As Sokrates tells it, your story begins the moment Eros enters you. That incursion is the biggest risk of your life. How you handle it is an index of the quality, wisdom, and decorum of the things inside you. As you handle it you come into contact with what is inside you, in a sudden and startling way. You perceive what you are, what you lack, what you could be.

We are only midway through the central verse of our youth when we see ourselves begin to blacken. ... We had been seduced into thinking that we were immortal and suddenly the affair is over.

I am a drop of gold he would say I am molten matter returned from the core of earth to tell you interior things-

Could you visit me in dreams? That would cheer me. Sweet to see friends in the night, however short the time.