I have a few life rules. One of them is to never write when depressed, never make excuses and don’t get bitter and whiny over bad situations like a Whiny Little Bitch.
There’s nothing quite like the feeling when it’s dark and raining and one of your shoes is filled with water. And why only one shoe? What the hell is that?
She often wondered whether / They slipped from her hand at the same time, / Her life and her bouquet.
He was a man. His eyes had seen beauty and ugliness, and his hands had caressed and entreated and threatened. He was born. He was loved. He was a man.
Make love to me in my sleep, my love. With your kiss lip to lip dance with me in the moonlight and our dreams, and with each exhalation bring me back down with you, landing on earth.