There's two kinds of women--those you write poems about and those you don't.

I've had the wind knocked out of me, but never the hurricane

No rescue boat can save the touches I left bobbing in the wild ocean of your flesh, but if they cut open your heart, like the belly of a shark, dumped its contents on a table—would there be any trace of me?

Once I thought I found love, but then I realized I was just out of cigarettes.

I know it’s stupid to not own a gun yet have so many triggers, but in some other world gigantic seashells hold humans to their ears and listen to the echo of machines.

I swallowed a hand grenade that never stops exploding.

I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you.