There's something, something,
something about you...

With fingers
in my lower back, my spine...

Fears are vultures in the nights
soaring thirstily, and hungrily...

It's not a day or a night that I would like,
Or an afternoon or a midnight that I would prefer...

Like pencils locked in drawers,
one by one, remained silent...

I fear not myself nor the world,
But my heart...

And it is true, that if tomorrow
the oceans go dry...

It's not the way one writes or the way one feels.
It's the way a writer takes the reader into a...

Shatter me into pieces,
Like confetti thrown in parties...

Her head was a race against the clock
speeding thoughts to one o'clock...

The moon got over my head
like the watch on my wrist...

In the backyard,
I searched for you in the stars...