The anthology was not a best-seller; art as a weapon seldom is.
Surprised by Love: Her Life and Marriage to C.S. LewisHer beauty was a weapon. A loaded gun, with the barrel pointed at her own head.
And the Mountains EchoedI know she is crying. Her tears fall on the wrong side, into the bottomless well inside her.
Mornings in JeninI didn’t even have a name for her, shade or human, but I didn’t need one to know her. (Eric)
Minutes Before SunsetAs I kissed her the heat of her body increased, and it exhaled a wild, untamed fragrance.
Memories of My Melancholy Whores