Are You Searching For The River Of

There Is No Worse Sickness For The Soul, O You Who Are Proud, Than This Pretense Of Perfection.

At Night, I Open The Window And Ask The Moon To Come And Press Its Face Against Mine. Breathe Into Me. Close The Language-door And Open The Love-window. The Moon Won't Use The Door, Only The Window.

The Sky Will Bow Down To Your Beauty, If You Do.

There Are Thousands Of Wines That Can Take Over Our Minds. Don't Think All Ecstasies Are The Same!

Try Something Different. Surrender.