If I were a tree, I would have no reason to love a human.
He cared for languages dead long enough that they wouldn’t change on him.
The inside of the old Camaro smelled like asphalt and desire, gasoline and dreams.
Arbores loqui latine. The trees speak Latin.
You needn't tell a bird it's a bird. Or remind a fish of its purpose. It's only us who lose our way. We have names because we must. - from Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter
Here is another secret: I have no business being fascinated by you.