“Cider and candor and cranberry kisses, firelight dancing – lowered inhibitions, our eyes caught up in intimate moments, soaking in these cinnamon-spiced secrets.”

Lavender lullabies whispered into night skies, remnants of galaxies cradled closely, as you sleep sweetly, time slips away and so do I.

When winter withers – my bones begin to thaw, my lungs crackle as they expand, and the blood in my veins start to flow and I awaken from hibernation – hungry for happiness and eager to let go.

My mind is not my own. I don’t recognize her when I am alone.

I know I haven’t told you, but I also know, that you’ve felt my love.

I lace barbed wire around my heart, constrict it – pull tight, maybe the pain will make it feel alive, and I can pretend it didn’t already die.

Expanding like the universe, I discovered galaxies within. To break glass ceilings: Breath in trust, exhale doubt-beckon bravery.

Those closest to me. Didn’t know the true state of my mentality.

Time aches- my words break as if they’re the wings of a captured butterfly as if they’re the seconds that keep ticking by as if they’re embers that refuse to ignite.

Misty morning welcomes me as I wander through the trees – calm amidst the chaos of distant memories.

Lost journals are steps back home, like the mending of broken bones, like scars that act as patches to my soul, like the measurement marks on my mother’s wall that show just how much I’ve grown.

Fireside and free, tangled up in curiosity, dripping in holy honesty, drawing in pure ecstasy, exploring possibilities – a cabin in the woods.

I simply cannot hold onto hope, it aches like possibilities never reached, I’m bubbling over with grief – this chaos has caused so much loss and fatigue.

And the world seems just a little bit warmer, and the sun shines slightly brighter than it used to, and the days pass differently than before, and time is no longer stuck in a loop.

I learned all about love from people that didn’t know how to love me.

What do you do, when all the loves you’ve ever known have only been paper moons?

I’m half agony, half hope – like I’m a freshly cut bone, like the last stone that was held – then not thrown, like a garden where inspiration roots but never grows.

An English traveller relates how he lived upon intimate terms with a tiger; he had reared it and used to play with it, but always kept a loaded pistol on the table.

In intimate family life, there comes a moment when children, willingly or no, become the judges of their parents.

And I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.

From a spiritual perspective every relationship we develop, from the most casual to the most intimate, serves the purpose of helping us to become more conscious.

The superior man is not seeking fulfillment through work and woman, because he is already full. For him, work and intimacy are opportunities to give his gifts, and to be vanished in the bliss of giving.

What a joyous mystery is your presence within me, in that intimate sanctuary of my soul where I can always find you, even when I do not feel your presence.

The intimate conversation adores her. – sincere.

You are not only a man, you are a superior man: a man who does his best to live as love in the world and in his intimacy, a man whose heart remains open and whose truth remains strong.