No One To Hate Except The Slim

Let There Be Seasons So That Our Tongues Will Be Rich In Asparagus And Limes.

I Like You; Your Eyes Are Full Of Language." [letter To Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]

And Tonight Our Skin, Our Bones, That Have Survived Our Fathers, Will Meet, Delicate In The Hold, Fastened Together In An Intricate Lock. Then One Of Us Will Shout, "my Need Is More Desperate!" And I Will Eat You Slowly With Kisses Even Though The Killer In You Has Gotten Out.

I Try To Take Care And Be Gentle To Them. Words And Eggs Must Be Handled With Care. Once Broken They Are Impossible Things To Repair.

Meanwhile In My Head, I’m Undergoing Open-heart Surgery.