Being Kissed On The Back Of The

There Is No Word For Time. Today We Will Not Think To Number Another Summer Or Watch Its White Bird Into The Ground.

To Die Whole, Riddled With Nothing But Desire For It, Is Like Breakfast After Love.

Being Kissed On The Back Of The Knee Is A Moth At The Windowscreen.

You Who Have Inhabited Me In The Deepest And Most Broken Place, Are Going, Going

I Burn The Way Money Burns.