“For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.”

“Rage boils through my veins. My heart screams for blood. My hands tremble with the need to squeeze his throat shut.”

“Until she walked into my life I was simply a violin of rusted notes. In one night she rearranged the mess inside me, exposing the symphony was there all along it just needed a conductor to make my pulse compose to the harmonies of her celestial touch. Those notes are strung up neatly now, the five lines of the stave crammed with adulation, filling sheets, unleashing a sonata of adoration, drumming my heart and strumming my veins.”

“If by it, you mean that big ass vein in the middle of your forehead, then yeah. It moved all right and it’s still pulsing.”

“Existence is this, I thought, a start of joy, a stab of pain, an intense pleasure, veins that pulse under the skin, there is no other truth to tell.”

“Smooth sailing doth not a sailor make.”