Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.

I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.

Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.

The body is a damn hard thing to kill.

Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings

I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.