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The kissed fingerpad touched wet with wine orbiting.

I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots outside in the night.

I am the king of doing wheelies on the Stingray bicycle of my mind.

Even our tenderest buds and shoots endure the late snow.

He’d always wanted to kiss her thigh dimples but never dared.

Zeus’s tongue thrusts straight and deep between my lips.

People believe; The whole world is part of something.

She fell out of her own composition, fell and landed flat on her face.

If Vann kisses her, a mist will rise in her brain. A promise of oblivion.

I had promised my children to end the war before they grew up.

The future was spread out for us to go in any direction we wanted.

You couldn’t believe what the rhododendrons do around here.

Albert came to her rescue. “The Great Gatsby’s our religion,” he said.

Ella knew she hadn’t hurt Sebastian, but she knew she’d betrayed him.

How do we get there, to where we can answer what the jingle is asking.

We’re tired. In bed, we hold hands. We watch TV. But do you want more?

Amy put her arm around his shoulders. My boy. Isn’t he wonderful?

This morning drifts of sand hissed along the shore like mist.

I will make my own man I will stitch together a coat of drunk minks

There was nothing sadder than the look of defeat in a man’s eyes.

What about writers who come suddenly into full power late in life?

What about writers who come suddenly into full power late in life?

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow. Together we are green.

What I became was not pretty. Like a needle on water-warped paper.

I wouldn’t know what to do with the body, gills pumping like an accordion.

it’s hard not to be obsessed with your own shadow I don’t tell him

The next time we made love, I looked for the fox looking down at me.

I had forgotten how to breathe, and then I learned again, all at once.

When you write the story of being a father don’t leave out the joy.

I hightailed it out of the hospital like my ex-wife was a prison I’d escaped.