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We were lying on the grass, sharing a joint. The sun was radiant.

Florence’s cobbled streets spoke like a broken wheel, a halfhearted inferno.

He was so frail, how could your heart not break when you saw him?

The eyes of men were drawn, numb and automatic, to her youthfulness.

He does not dare to ask the question flaring in his head. Will she stay.

Loving you is every bit as fine as coming over a hill into the sun.

It’s life that is hard: sleeping, eating, loving, and dying are easy.

you here and these words also here meeting in your shared beauty

Why don’t we just get drunk and walk down the middle of Fifth Avenue.

I have so many questions for you, for you are closer to me than anyone.

Death is our common ancestor. It doesn’t care who we have dined with.

Michael Wiegers

Let us stifle under mud and affirm it is fitting and delicious to lose everything.

We’d open our mouths and sink, trying to make an ocean of ourselves.

Cory only hires stoners so he has something on them if they try blackmail.

Finger tracing the terrain, you hold me through autumn’s loss of color.

I see now that motherhood is not required to speak a mother tongue.

I lean I stumble toward you hoping you’ve not turned away yet.

I’m tired of the song the rain sings in June, the chorus of hope.

Maybe it’s a Thursday, & I’m coming home to make you dinner.

“Tell me about the things you can’t tell me about when I’m dressed.”

To me, the very point of cooking is to wildly praise what’s wild.

You can’t ask her not to fall in love when she does it on a daily basis.

“We don’t feel like a couple. Haven’t felt like a couple for a very long while.”

What felt like sanctity now felt like nothingness, like death.

Every day I was forced to return to the one place I did not want to be.

How did the light take forty years to work its way across that room.

Before giant pandas earn heir name, they cub pinkly and mewling.

I reviewed the rules for myself, among them: stay in the moment.