I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.
A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
... 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.
Rats live on no evil star