I loved her fright, which was against me into the air! and the diamond white of her forelock which seemed to smart with thoughts as my heart smarted with life! and she'd toss her head with the pain and paw the air and champ the bit, as if I were Endymion and she, moon-like, hated to love me.

My heart is in my/ pocket. It is poems by Pierre Reverdy.

I embraced a cloud but when I soared it rained.

and I have mastered the speed and strength which is the armor of the world.

The stars fell one by one into his eyes and burnt.

There is a geography which holds its hands just so far from the breast and pushes you away, crying so.

That's not a run in your stocking, it's a hand on your leg.