If You Want To Be True To

The Noblest Relationship Is Marriage, That Is, Love. Its Nobility Resides In Its Altruism, The Desire To Serve Another Beyond All The Pleasures Of The Relationship; And In Its Refusal Ever To Regard The Other As A Thing, An Object, A Utilizability. Sex Is An Exchange Of Pleasures, Of Needs; Love Is A Giving Without Return. It Is This Giving Without Return, This Helping Without Reward, This Surplus Of Pure Good, That Identifies The Uniqueness Of Man As Well As The True Nature Of The True Marriage. This Is The Quintessence The Great Alchemy Of Sex Is For.

The Moon Hung Over The Planet Earth, A Dead Thing Over A Dying Thing.

We Can Sometimes Recognize The Looks Of A Century Ago On A Modern Face; But Never Those Of A Century To Come.

The Bowed Head, The Buried Face. She Is Silent, She Will Never Speak, Never Forgive, Never Reach A Hand, Never Leave This Frozen Present Tense. All Waits, Suspended. Suspended The Autumn Trees, The Autumn Sky, Anonymous People. A Blackbird, Poor Fool, Sings Out Of Season From The Willows By The Lake. A Flight Of Pigeons Over The Houses; Fragments Of Freedom, Hazard, An Anagram Made Flesh. And Somewhere The Stinging Smell Of Burning Leaves.

He Is Solid; Immovable, Iron-willed. He Showed Me One Day His Killing Bottle. I'm Imprisoned In It. Fluttering Against The Glass. Because I Can See Through It I Still Think I Can Escape. I Have Hope. But It's All An Illusion. A Thick Round Wall Of Glass.