It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.

... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.

Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.

It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.

And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, "My need is more desperate!" and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.