Italy Is A Dream That Keeps Returning

There Is A Sacred, Secret Line In Loving Which Attraction And Even Passion Cannot Cross.

I Seem To Myself, As In A Dream, Am Accidental Guest In This Dreadful Body.

The Whole Time I Was Hoping My Silence Would Fit Yours And Exclamation Marks Would Gently Float Across Time And Space So That Boundaries Would Be Crossed; The Whole Time I Was Praying You Would Read My Eyes And Understand What I Was Never Able To Understand. See, We Were Never About Butterflies. We’ve Always Been About Burning Stars. All About Us Is Unearthly And Radiant.

Courage: Great Russian Word, Fit For The Songs Of Our Children's Children, Pure On Their Tongues, And Free.

Call Me A Sinner, Mock Me Maliciously: I Was Your Insomnia, I Was Your Grief.