“I wish I didn’t need words to speak to her. They sometimes hold very different meanings for us both.”

“I didn’t mean to snore in your ear, but I wanted to inhale all of what was wrapped up in the comforter with me.”

“I don’t need to tell her I love her, but I do it anyway.”

“let's put god on the other side of the wall for a while. i don't need him watching us with those judging eyes.”

“I,” I start, and she turns to look at my lips moving, rehearsing for some grand proposal. “I think it’d be good idea if you brought a few books over and left them on my shelf.” I’m a writer, and this is as good as it gets. She didn’t need a ring, just the ability to borrow a bookmark whenever she needed, or unwritten or unspoken permission to take my copy of Cecil Brown’s The Life and Loves of Mr. Jiveass Nigger with the original cover.”

“I speak and help some folks only because I believe they may be god in flesh, testing me for politeness.”

“I wonder if she’s infatuated enough to let me lock her in a box with me on a cool fall day and make love like America depends on us.”