I don't knowif giving partsmore precious than limbsfor an idea like loveis love.I don't know what the"me"isin the context of love.I can find my finger..
We sleep with the door open.There's a feeling of homewhen the cold slides in.The odd possums scuttleson the block wall.The distant sound of carsarrive..
the sound of my voice has grown strange to me.like a soft leg sliding under new sheets.unused and old. unfamiliar. the groanstarts low in my ribs. it ..
the suns wide, bright boughs,came downfilling the pages of our lives like aheavy handed palm print.our pasts mergedand bled into angled shadows.long h..