My Idea Of Hell Is To Be

It Is Not Sex That Gives The Pleasure, But The Lover.

The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud. Botched, It Smears The Hands, Crumbles To Dust. But The Thing Worth Doing Well Done Has A Shape That Satisfies, Clean And Evident.

Learning To Love Differently Is Hard, Love With The Hands Wide Open, Love With The Doors Banging On Their Hinges, The Cupboard Unlocked, The Windroaring And Whimpering In The Rooms.

I Am My Mother's Daughter,... I Am Her Only Novel.

On This Twelfth Day Of My Diet I Would Rather Die Satiated Than Slim.