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Her lips had the scent of the first kiss, and a thirst for justice.

Over salad, the Frenchman asked me about work and what I did.

Every voice an epitaph, and then a little tune from the neighbor’s yard.

Until now the man had not really lived, but simply existed, to be sure.

“Some men’re like that. They have to see what they’re missing.”

I wanted to ask what her secret was but I was too busy knitting socks.

Time stops as the ball rolls tantalizingly around the rim.

I could become something new. Improved. Like detergent.

He probably should have arrested or at least reported me to someone.

She’s innocent, guilty of nothing but the need to be admired.

So long as there was money, the girl felt established, and brutally proud.

With no words to speak about our love, we’re each one more alone.

Rebecca beheld the sword which was suspended over her people.

When she passes you, her name is a bright blue phrase on your tongue.

Our camera pans along the porch, and we see each praying woman.

Chocolate promises a happy ending. I believed in that promise.

How shocking it was to discover these real things were not real.

All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.”

Merwin discovered and restored eighteen acres of abandoned land.

I woke in surprise to your breath warm as your skin on my neck.

Your mother still glows with a smoothness that you envy.

His thoughts are never far from the erotic as he roams around Dublin.

Our visions of the world fade like the morning star, lost in the light of day.

For two days I’ve been weeping over a nineteenth-century novel.

I bring out the emergency in people and I don’t know why.

I managed to talk sensible Alice into a little pink outfit and high heels.

The noiseless trees, the insentient breezes that are not there.

I lost myself in their minds: for the moment I actually became them.

I wait for the one thing that will change my life to arrive in the mail.