“Hey you, dragging the halo-how about a holiday in the islands of grief? Tongue is the word I wish to have with you.Your eyes are so blue they leak.Your legs are longer than a prisoner'slast night on death row.I'm filthier than the coal miner's bathtuband nastier than the breath of Charles Bukowski.You're a dirty little windshield.I'm standing behind you on the subway, hard as calculus. My breathbe sticking to your neck like graffiti.I'm sitting opposite you in the bar, waiting for you to uncross your boundaries.I want to rip off your logicand make passionate sense to you.I want to ride in the swing of your hips.My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks, blazing your limbs into parts of speech.But with me for a lover, you won't needcatastrophes. What attracted me in the first placewill ultimately make me resent you.I'll start telling you lies, and my lies will sparkle, become the bad stars you chart your life by.I'll stare at other women so blatantlyyou'll hear my eyes peeling, because sex with you is like Great Britain: cold, groggy, and a little uptight.Your bed is a big, soft calculatorwhere my problems multiply.Your brain is a garageI park my bullshit in, for free.You're not really my new girlfriend, just another flop sequel of the first one, who was based on the true story of my mother.You're so ugly I forgot how to spell.I'll cheat on you like a ninth grade math test, break your heart just for the sound it makes.You're the 'this' we need to put an end to.The more you apologize, the less I forgive you.So how about it?”

“I'm sitting opposite you in the bar, waiting for you to uncross your boundaries.I want to rip off your logicand make passionate sense to you.I want to ride in the swing of your hips.My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks, blazing your limbs into parts of speech.”

“I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you. I want to ride in the swing of your hips. My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks, blazing your limbs into parts of speech.”

“I want to rip off your logicand make passionate sense to you.”

“I surrendered my identity in your eyes.Now I'm just like everybody else, and it's so funny, the way monogamy is funny, the waysomeone falling down in the street is funny.I entered a revolving door and emergedas a human being. When you think of meis my face electronically blurred? I remember your collarbone, forming the tiniestsatellite dish in the universe, your smileas the place where parallel lines inevitably crossed.Now dinosaurs freeze to death on your shoulder.I remember your eyes: fifty attack dogs on a single leash, how I once held the soft audience of your hand.I've been ignored by prettier women than you, but none who carried the heavy pitchers of silenceso far, without spilling a drop.”

“When you were sleeping on the sofaI put my ear to your ear and listenedto the echo of your dreams.That is the ocean I want to dive in, merge with the bright fish, plankton and pirate ships.I walk up to people on the street that kind of look like youand ask them the questions I would ask you.Can we sit on a rooftop and watch stars dissolve into smokerising from a chimney? Can I swing like Tarzan in the jungle of your breathing? I don’t wish I was in your arms, I just wish I was peddling a bicycle toward your arms.”

“Mathematicians still don’t understandthe ball our hands made, or howyour electrocuted grandparents made it possiblefor you to light my cigarettes with your eyes.It isn’t as simple as me climbing into the windowto leave six ounces of orange juiceand a doughnut by the bed, or me becomingthe sand you dug your toes in,on the beach, when you wishedto hide them from the sun and the fixed eyesof strangers, and your breath broke in wavesover my earlobe, splashing through my head, spilling outover the opposite lobe, and my first poemsunder your door in the unshaven light of dawn:Your eyes remind me of a brick wallabout to be hammered by a drunkdriver. I’m that driver. All nightI’ve swallowed you in the bar.Once I kissed the scar, stretching its sealedeyelid along your inner arm, driedraining strands of hair, full of pheromones, discoveredall your idiosyncratic passageways, so I’d knowwhere to run when the cops came.Your body is the country I’ll never return to.The man in charge of what crosses my mindwill lose fingernails, for not turning youaway at the border. But at this momentwhen sweat tingles from me, andblame is as meaningless as shooting up a cow with milk,I realise my kisses filled the halls of your bodywith smoke, and the lies camelike a season. Most drunks don’t die in accidentsthey orchestrate, and I swalloweda hand grenade that never stops exploding.”