Somebody who should have been born is gone.
I am so imperfect, can you love me when really my soul is deformed? Will you love me anyhow?
Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.