...Use your finger to trace the scar upon my chest- I lied - it wasn't a knife wound, but a scrape from a nail sliding under a fence to see you...
...when you're hard and unyielding your words score me with lines - I hate lines - I want curves - curves are happy like a snowman ...
...every time I look at you autumn leaves come in between - does it matter they're the color of your hair - or they still fall in my memory?...
...I got to love solitude - to see the Moon rise and set - I had time to watch it trace the window square across the wall in silent grace...
... paint in blue and black...sometimes gray - the colors of night - occasionally I surprise you with a mustard yellow, but then, I am a poet ...
...there's something magical about a mask, but I have never worn one - I want you to see my pain and know how your love affects me...
...I see more pathology in others than I did ten years ago - the older I get, the more insane people seem...
...I guess you're right - I am a priest - I offer sacrifices - so take this line, I want you to have something of mine...
...I pluck every day from my sweater or chair, red hairs...strands of significance, traces of you in my life ...
...all my life I prayed to a star – Later discovered it was Venus – I was praying to Aphrodite and wondering why she was sending me you -sad...
...I committed a sin the day I refused you - I discovered metal inside me where my heart should be - forgive me, Love, for acting on principles...
...so now you know my eyes are green - because of my shirt? You never looked into my soul to know how much in me is green...
...when I think of you it's with tears, because no one else has such delicate hands that can reach into my soul and calm my fears...
...the monk beat me to break my spirit, incensed I knew Acquinas - angry, I knew his riddle - beauty is what is pleasing to the eye - he wasn't...
...I can’t grasp the stars, but I love them – in the same way, I love you...
... the scarlet thread,the red clay from which we were made, runs in tiny streams through all our veins, reminding us of where we began ...
...is worship too strong a word? yes, I worship you - to worship is to give worth to something – isn’t that what love is all about?...
...but you - women like you are dangerous- ominous – take care, Love – men will first fear you, then later, turn you into a deity...
...my writing is a wild mustang - more thunderous than a lightning storm -and all my skill which I call art, is devoted to simply staying on...
...at seventeen I tried to write poetry confining myself solely to Anglo-Saxon words - don't know if it helped, but it made me more concrete ...
... my early writing was a silent fury - at what or whom, I had no idea - but I shut it in until it burned my bones and now, I've let it out...
