While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.

In love, you have loosened yourself like seawater

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Take it all back. Life is boring, except for flowers, sunshine, your perfect legs. A glass of cold water when you are really thirsty. The way bodies fit together. Fresh and young and sweet. Coffee in the morning. These are just moments. I struggle with the in-betweens. I just want to never stop loving like there is nothing else to do, because what else is there to do?

I do not love you-except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you, from waiting to not waiting for you my heart moves from the cold into the fire.

When I sleep every night, what am I called or not called? And when I wake, who am I if I was not I while I slept?

Peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread.