We Speak Of The Masculine And The

I Walk Ahead Of Myself In Perpetual Expectancy Of Miracles.

She Was Fully, Painfully Aware That Very Rarely Did Midnight Strike In Two Hearts At Once, Very Rarely Did Midnight Arouse Two Different Equal Desires, And That Any Dislocation In This, Any Indifference, Was An Indication Of Disunity, Of The Difficulties, The Impossibilities Of Fusion Between Two Human Beings.

We Sit On The Kitchen Exchanging These Diabolical Outgrowths Of Overfertile Minds.

The Personal, If It Is Deep Enough, Becomes Universal, Mythical, Symbolic.

Tropical Nights Are Hammocks For Lovers.