Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.

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?

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

I've been ignored by prettier women than you, but none who carried the heavy pitchers of silence so far, without spilling a drop.

I swallowed a hand grenade that never stops exploding.

We didn’t deny the obvious, but we didn’t entirely accept it either. I mean, we said hello to it each morning in the foyer. We patted its little head as it made a mess in the backyard, but we never nurtured it. Many nights the obvious showed up at our bedroom door, in its pajamas, unable to sleep, in need of a hug, and we just stared at it like an Armenian, or even worse— hid beneath the covers and pretended not to hear its tiny sobs.

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