Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?
There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me'.
He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.
The older one grows, the more one likes indecency.
Long ago I realized that no other person would be to me what you are.
Travelers are much at the mercy of phrases ... vast generalizations formulate in their exposed brains.