“And as he unzipped her dress she buttoned her soul.”

I want to see you naked stripped bare yourself in front of me and then you can take your clothes off.

All these candles unlit perhaps they too need to breathe you.

She won’t settle for being just another girl on your feed you know.

What about us who would like a piece of the soul served as an aperitif before we dig into flesh?

I want to see our demons complement each other for the rest of our lives.

What if last time felt so beautiful simply because it actually was our last time?

I know my worth it shouldn’t have to slap me in the face though.

Hug me from behind so we won’t have to stare the facts in the eye.

You deserve to be chosen undoubtedly over and over again not merely considered.

Your scent is one I want to know for the rest of my life.

Home is where the heart is, but my heart is with you and I’m not with it.

I fall asleep hugging myself tight, as I probably should.

Wake us from this seasonal slumber of sorts, it is time for us to finally bloom.

Falling asleep to them or waking up to them; twittering birds are a treasure either way.

I managed to cut myself loose and while there was pain – there weren’t any blood.

I’ll be a fool anywhere but never in love, I promise me that.

I’m a sexual person, and that’s reflected in my clothes and my advertisements.

All dancing is a replacement for sex.

I’m very susceptible to sex appeal.

I’m more offended when someone’s killed on television than when there’s something that’s sensuous or sexual. So what?

Myra Breckenridge is the antithesis of sex symbol. She’s revolutionary; she’s a warrior.

There is nothing wrong with going to bed with someone of your own sex. People should be very free with sex, they should draw the line at goats.

Come nightfall, wrap your arms around the tenderness – of her skin.

Oh! If only we were naked now, and free to watch our protruding parts align; To whisper – both of us – in ecstasy!