…the wet brush of snowflakes was like your kisses everywhere …

…I see more pathology in others than I did ten years ago – the older I get, the more insane people seem…

…I’m innocent still -inside me are stained glass windows that have never been broken- and when I see your light it stains my soul with color …

This will be a winter so desolate, only memory can fill the emptiness

…the real absurdity is that to love is to suffer, but the reverse isn’t always true…

…I didn’t want you flawless – I have a bare wall at home that’s flawless – I wanted your character trapped in the amber of your skin…

…you can have a dark heart and be a writer, but you can’t have a black one..

…you ask me why I compare you to stars – it’s simple – that’s where your goddess has fled…

…Mankind is not a race of noble savages – but primitive monsters hide inside us, elusive as Sasquatch…

…Ah, but the Moon my Love is jealous, and can you blame him? You outshine him with your virtues…

…my writing is a wild mustang – more thunderous than a lightning storm -and all my skill which I call art, is devoted to simply staying on…

I love watching you – you’re a silent film of gestures

…each heart is made of a different stone – no two feel alike nor break the same way …

…how are you sacred to me? your lines are golden threads – your patter, my patten – I explore the liturgy of your words…

… here’s what I believe – sometimes God has a Plan B…

…writers, like priests, should have compassion…and a sensitivity to pain…

…I remember the oily smoke of a cigarette suspended in a shaft of sunlight – with you, everything was beautiful…

…if you’ve got writer’s block, you aren’t empty – maybe it’s just like Twitter – overwhelmed, and loading seems to be taking a while…

…when you’re broken, everything gets a little honester – you make mistakes and don’t give a damn – you give up on perfection, but get real…

…you are enchanted – only a princess can leave glass footprints in the snow…

…I see myself at crossroads in my life, mapless, lacking bits of knowledge – then, the Moon breaks through, lights up the path before me…

…across the snowy field the barn light gleams – it’s the loneliness of November twilight…

…it took me a lifetime of glimpses, but now I see you completely – did I tell you you’re beautiful? so kind to animals, children and me…

…perhaps in actions I’m less of a man – but, oh the words – such lovely words…

burnt by the sunof your mouth, I’m unable to speak or paint you with words

…you were there when they trampled me – you picked me up, healed me and gave me back my feelings – is it any wonder I love you?…

…don’t be self-conscious – other people are completely unaware of you and more concerned with how they appear …

…the monk beat me to break my spirit, incensed I knew Acquinas – angry, I knew his riddle – beauty is what is pleasing to the eye – he wasn’t…

… yes I speak a different language – the dark fire of poetry – it flutters and gutters in tune with the mood…

…what is sacred is the other person -we forget that sometimes – and fail to honor who they are …

…I put you on the pedestal – made you a saint – dare I blaspheme?…

…I don’t just wish you rain, Beloved – I wish you the beauty of storms…

…with you, I find peace from pain – You are gentle and healing like the landscape—like rain…

…a sensual life is a ghostly existence where you live on the surface and your soul passes through everything, touching nothing …

…sorrow binds us – I will always cherish you – my only disillusionment is unspoken words …

…you can’t rationalize suffering – it’s indeterminate – the real unknowable variable God substitutes in…

…if you’re an actor, and you’ve thought your way into the part, then you’re character portrayal will have authority…

…Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable…

…I remember your profile in darkness outlined by stars …

…all these epic battles and monsters lately – but love is a tiny world and I prefer a more personal style…

…I don’t want what other men see in you- you the you I want is invisible but it is the part of you I really love…

…a bard’s down-to-earth love: My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red and when she walks, treads on the ground…

your moods and colors are my climate, not the changing face of the sky

…the religion of the heart is as intimate as a wish breathed to the night sky…

…you know I wanted a Madonna, not a whore – I made you sacred offering you my words…

…don’t be afraid of going by a way you’ve never gone – that’s the way we’re all going…

…when you enter a room, my wound opens, but there is light, always light, when you come in…

…I hardly ever see your profile, but have I told you it’s beautiful? – like the soft gentle lines of snow…

…If I ever got sloppy and maudlin, it would be for the streets of my childhood—but no self- respecting writer should ever eulogize a slum…

I keep coming back to certain books, and you—to try to find myself again