The Price Of Seeing Is Silence.

Connections Are Made Slowly, Sometimes They Grow Underground.

We Lie In Each Other's Arms Eyes Shut And Fingers Open And All The Colors Of The World Pass Through Our Bodies Like Strings Of Fire.

Purple As Tulips In May, Mauve Into Lush Velvet, Purple As The Stain Blackberries Leave On The Lips, On The Hands, The Purple Of Ripe Grapes Sunlit And Warm As Flesh.

The Art Of Fiction Is One Of Constant Seduction. You Must Persuade The Reader On Page 1 To Start Reading - On Page 50, Or Page 150 And Yes, On Page 850.

Hope Sleeps In Our Bones Like A Bear Waiting For Spring To Rise And Walk.