“Does the moon peer downat the tides and hunger for home?”

“In two of your poems you called that centralPassage of womanhood a wound,Instead of a curtain guarding a silkenTrail of sighs. How many men,Upon regarding such beauty, helplesslyTouching it, recklessly needingTo enter its warmth again and again,Have assumed it embodies their own acheOf absence, the personalGash that has punished their lives.So endowed of anatomy, any womanWho has been lovedKnows that her tenderest blushOf tissue is a luxe burden of have.Although it bleeds, this is only to cleanse,To prepare yet another nesting for love.It is not a wound, friend.It is a home for you.It is a way into the world.”

“Live for today and let tomorrow come later.”

“Unable to stop himself, Ranulf buried his fingers in the dark gold and whispered, "With you,I just might have found the home I never had.”

“It came on slowly, like the tide filling up the entire shore before you even realize it's coming in.”

“But how does one say, "When I hold you in my arms, I lose all reason?”

“Comparing yourself to others does nothing for you. Society has conditioned us to value people who fit a secular mold of perfection".”