Outside books, we avoid colorful characters.

When my beloved arrives, I yawn. When my beloved departs, I weep.

As a youth, I sought out decadence; as an elder, I try to avoid decay.

We take refuge in illness and then are trapped there.

As desire recedes, the world becomes clear, pale, and empty.

The intimacy of love absolves us of our guilty separateness.

The bathroom scale knows nothing of extenuating circumstances.