Is it the sea you hear in me? Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness? Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it.
The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.
Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse.
Worse even than your maddening song, your silence.
See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.
Wear your heart on your skin in this life.