The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy & peaceful.

Oh what a poet I will flay myself into.

I wonder about all the roads not taken and am moved to quote Frost...but won't. It is sad to be able only to mouth other poets. I want someone to mouth me.

I, love, I am the pure acetylene virgin attended by roses.

I saw the years of my life spaced along a road in the form of telephone poles threaded together by wires. I counted one, two, three... nineteen telephone poles, and then the wires dangled into space, and try as I would, I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth.

Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?