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 keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.

Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.

How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.

Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing.

I like people too much or not at all.