I’m not suggesting the world is good, that life is easy, or that any of us are entitled to better. But please, isn’t this the kind of thing you talk about in somber tones, in the afternoon, with some degree of hope and maybe even a handful of strategies?

I wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. You could drown in those eyes, I said, so it’s summer, so it’s suicide, so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.

If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.

The light is no mystery, the mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through.

I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me and I have to search my body for scars.

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again.

Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.