I’ll always deny that I kissed her. I was just whispering into her mouth.

Although I know it's unfair, I reveal myself one mask at a time.

I’ll always deny that I kissed her. I was just whispering into her mouth.

I’ve had it with all stingy-hearted sons of bitches. A heart is to be spent.

The world is always somewhat vicious. I take that as a given, but at various times in various circumstances that fact will be no more than a shadow or an echo behind some poem. Other times it will be more manifest. I try to write myself into articulations of half-felt, half-known feelings, without program. I'm always working toward getting my world and, hopefully, the world outside of me into a version that makes sense of it. Viciousness requires the same precision as love does.

Altruism is for those who can't endure their desires. There's a world as ambiguous as a moan, a pleasure moan our earnest neighbors might think a crime. It's where we could live. I'll say I love you, Which will lead, of course, to disappointment, but those words unsaid poison every next moment. I will try to disappoint you better than anyone else has. --Mon Semblable

When I stop becoming, that's when I worry.