Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.
O starry night, This is how I want to die
The sanest thing in this world is love.
The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.