“Talk dirty to me like I’m a nun on her knees screaming hail Mary.”

She’s a child of war. Stronger than a bomb with a lioness’s roar.

Mirrors are used in magic to distort what we see. They are the love child of illusion, lies, tragedy.

She loathes her body but covers it in sequins. Attempts at self-love.

An old song; a whiff of perfume; nostalgia let’s me time travel back to you.

Like a wild cat in the Serengeti, I land on my feet and transcend reality.

The photo of me they choose to print when I die -Thoughts at 4 a.m

Kiss my wine-drenched mouth and drown in drunk temptations offered by the night.

The body is but a vessel to carry the soul. A container ship to protect it as it passes through this world.

Bake at any time. Lick the chocolate from the bowl. Lessons from my Nan.

I remember the stillness of the night when I met darkness for the first time.  Whispering gently in my ear “It’s time to come home”

My mind is loud but endless evanescent thoughts stay trapped in silence.

Pink dress, chestnut curls. A picture of innocence before life stole her.

If your thighs touch, don’t be scared. They are just kissing; it’s a love affair.

A star that shines the brightest is the one that had to explode the hardest. My love, you are a supernova.

Sand between her toes she dances with earth without a care in the world.

I wish I was on a jet plane, with my passport in my pocket and adventure in my veins.

I have no boobs whatsoever. On my wedding night my husband said, ‘Let me help you with those buttons’ and I told him, ‘I’m completely naked’.

Edgar had a heart attack, and I’m to blame. We were making love, and I took the bag off my head.

If a man’s a good kisser, he’s a great f-.

Sometimes I feel like an old hooker.

Listening to a woman is almost as bad as losing to one. There are only three things that women are better at than men: cleaning, cooking, and having sex.

Play me a symphony of love with your tongue. It doesn’t have to be romantic.

Double up, baby. Your lips are the song and the dance floor is our bed.

My legitimate kids are Dalma and Giannina. The rest are a product of my money and mistakes.