Love is a desolate city. Tumbleweed and oil spills in streets, the gasoline of plenty drained of itself. I have walked its lanes and...

Whatever, love, I wove once in the yard, whatever I decided to forsake in order to receive from up above such blessings as this dormant...

Love is the fiery intention and the breath wet with dew. It stabs at the pillars of loss and chips them clean of jealousy. It clears out...

Love rising like the fumes of the past out of sewer-systems and matrimony, out of the interwoven sunset and darkness that comprise the...

Tell me how I’ve come to be like this, my love, writing tortured prose, expecting resurrection just like that. I am not entitled to...

I. O love, you do not know the names of men who've trodden searing sands in search of thee. Your cruelty exists alone, in the fact of...

Nay, She is no sepulchre in Whose bed I shall, at length, die quietly: Instead, with verdant eyes full, rife, replete with Life, I’ll lay...

You see, I hope to preserve a moment in this way; though you are fleeting, love, how you have stayed with my joy, calm, pain, I hold you...