Many Women Get Involved With A Man

If I Get Ideas Independently Of The Act Of Writing, They Never Really Fit. So For Me, There's No Hanging Out, Waiting For Inspiration.

If Sinners Where So Unhappy, Why Would They Prefer Their Suffering? But Now I Knew Why. Without My Wounds, Who Was I?

They Dream Of Men With Gentle Hands, Eloquent With Tenderness, Fingers That Brushed Along A Cheek, That Outlined Open Lips In The Lovers' Braille. Hands That Sculpted Sweetness From Sullen Flesh, That Traced Breast And Ignited Hips, Opening, Kneading. Flesh Becomes Bread In The Heat Of Those Hands, Braided And Rising.

She Would Be Half A Planet Away, Floating In A Turquoise Sea, Dancing By Moonlight To Flamenco Guitar.

To Know I Was Beautiful In His Eyes Made Me Beautiful.