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Moon child with your galaxy heart, cool your heels and stay awhile.

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Be patient with me, dear heart. The art of loving is a peculiar business when one has spent an eternity hating themselves.
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I swear if I were to rip myself open, it wouldn’t be blood that poured out of me, it would be him.
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Poetry is the loveliest art. It has a wretched way of revealing our own character when we think we are judging the poets.
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I have known love and I have known loss, but in the end, they both looked a lot like you.
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Pleasure or pain; I’ll take either as long as it is laced with passion.
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You were a lifetime ago, yet here I am, still pulling pieces of you out of me.
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I breathe him in so deep that when he is gone I exhale and taste him again.
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She is love, and a little fucking unstoppable.
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And that is the nature of us poets and whores, to make things hard: dicks, choices, life.
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There is no greater power than that of the sun, the moon, and a woman who knows her worth.
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He was all dangerous eyes and beautiful lies, but I ached. for him to lie to me some more.
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I think I saw you again in the moonlight tonight, and I swear I could taste the hints of it alll.
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I have been covered in easy kisses from uneasy lips, and I know I smell weary again.
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He calms my chaos and I fuel his fire. We are a match made between heaven and hell.
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I will not force a pretty smile upon my face to please eyes that no longer see me.
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She tasted like wildflowers; crushed, wet wild flowers carried in sticky palms through farmers’ fields, just before dawn.
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