Be Drunk With Love, For Love Is

Knowest Thou Not The Beauty Of Thine Own Face? Quit This Temper That Leads Thee To War With Thyself.

The Ripe Fignow That You Live Here In My Chest,anywhere We Sit Is A Mountaintop.and Those Other Images,which Have Enchanted Peoplelike Porcelain Dolls From China,which Have Made Men And Women Weepfor Centuries, Even Those Have Changed Now.what Used To Be Pain Is A Lovely Benchwhere We Can Rest Under The Roses.a Left Hand Has Become A Right.a Dark Wall, A Window.a Cushion In A Shoe Heel,the Leader Of The Community!now Silence. What We Sayis Poison To Someand Nourishing To Others.what We Say Is A Ripe Fig,but Not Every Bird That Flieseats Figs.

No One Can Tell If I’m Laughing Or Weeping. I Wonder Myself.

There Is Some Kiss We Want With The Whole Of Our Lives.

The Soul Is A Stranger Trying To Find A Home Somewhere That Is Not A Where.