Is your face a beautiful blossom or a sweet torture? I have no complaints but my heart is tempted to let you hear of its sorrows.

You could string a hundred endless days together, My soul would find no comfort from this pain. You laugh at my tale? You may be educated But you haven’t learned to love till you’re insane

Everyone sleeps, except lovers, who stay awake, telling stories to God

I was a thorn rushing to be with a rose, vinegar blending with honey… Then I found some dirt to make an ointment that would honor my soul… Love says, “You are right, but don’t claim these changes. Remember, I am wind. You are an ember I ignite.

Lamps are different, but light is the same.

This is how it always is when I finish a poem. A great silence overcomes me and I wonder why I ever thought to use language.

Finding faults is for those with tired minds.