My life is a code within a code, and I’ll crack both like two eggs and eat my existence like an omelet.
Afternoon experience: autographing exposed legs, outstretched in lines like matchsticks. Afternoon epiphany: Those with smooth, hairless legs would soon lose all evidence of my contact when the sweat causes the ink from the marker to run. I am epheme...
Or [take] the old cripple worried about choking on his vitamins or tripping if he tries to hobble over that wide crack in the sidewalk. He won’t be bound by mere experience - he renounces it all together as something confusing; the very moment it o...
I lost my faith in my faithlessness. I believe I’m a nonbeliever now.
There was an old saying in my household when I was growing up: “Never eat the Cheerios after your brother’s pissed in the milk.” Of course, since my pops had to work three jobs to support us, we often did have to finish our cereal, no matter if...
I’m afraid of fear, men named Raef, and palindromes.
I made her a bathing suit—out of saran wrap. We made love like leftovers.
I believe the love shared between two people shouldn’t be secretly shared with a third. Not even if I am vacationing on the moon, and that third person is my clone.
The sunset faded and blended from pink to peach to mango in a smoothie in the sky. For as long as she doesn’t love me, I will love her.
Napoleon made war like I make love—from a height of about 68 centimeters. (I wear platform shoes while I’m on my knees)
A poem for Beth: Roses are red, Violets are blue, I didn’t know what love meant, until I looked it up in the dictionary.
I define myself and grow as a person through emotional torment, so if you love me, you will inflict as much pain on me as you possibly can.
The only thing I could love more than you is two of you. And I suppose three.
Our love was covered in fur, yet I was the only one who wanted to pet it.
What did I know of love then? What do I know of love now? I went from mustard to ketchup, but I’m still leading with my hotdog.
I am the bathtub of love, but all Agatha ever wanted was a shower.
I am the Love Ventriloquist. And if you say I’m not, I’ll say it so it sounds like you said I am.
I found your love like I found religion: in an aluminum trashcan in the middle of the Utah desert.
I don’t need love. I live in a forest. The quiet is my companion. The cold is my warmth. My heart once suffered from frostbite, but I removed and replaced it with a fuel pump.
I am not the Bird of Love I once thought I was. But my silence suggests I may be the Pterodactyl of Love.
I told my doctor my penis was as thin as a spaghetti noodle. I asked if there was anything I could do to bulk it up, and he said, “Yeah, tell your girl to twirl it on a fork before she puts it in her mouth.
