“Drive me to a ditch and I’ll dig the grave myself through conversation.”

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.

Her blue eyes sparkle a little less than before. Adult life done right.

Even in darkness, your light burns with the cosmic energy of a thousand falling stars.

The ultimate meltdown was Britney Spears. But she (Spears) can’t hold a conversation. No.

They have someone who feeds her what she is supposed to say. Like she can’t hold a conversation.

How can life be worth living, if devoid Of the calm trust reposed by friend in friend? What sweeter joy than in the kindred soul, Whose converse differs not from self-communion?

Some conversations feel like a hug. Some people feel like home.

I miss people I have never met. Conversations I have never had. Streets I’ve never walked. And love I have never made.

Spiritual people are not those who engage in certain spiritual practices; they are those who draw their life from a conversational relationship with God.

That first justification given, again, the White House misleading the country about a major action the administration was taking, but the fact that they had a private conversation in which the president,

Romance like a ghost escapes touching; it is always where you are not, not where you are. The interview or conversation was prose at the time, but it is poetry in the memory.