“I don't want learning, or dignity, or respectability. I want this music, and this dawn, and the warmth of your cheek against mine.”

Rumi

Rumi - “I don't want learning, or dignity, or...” 1

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“A Thirsty FishI don't get tired of you. Don't grow wearyof being compassionate toward me!All this thirst equipmentmust surely be tired of me,the waterjar, the water carrier.I have a thirsty fish in methat can never find enoughof what it's thirsty for!Show me the way to the ocean!Break these half-measures,these small containers.All this fantasyand grief.Let my house be drowned in the wavethat rose last night in the courtyardhidden in the center of my chest.Joseph fell like the moon into my well.The harvest I expected was washed away.But no matter.A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.I don't want learning, or dignity,or respectability.I want this music and this dawnand the warmth of your cheek against mine.The grief-armies assemble,but I'm not going with them.This is how it always iswhen I finish a poem.A great silence comes over me,and I wonder why I ever thoughtto use language.”

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“It's just that you don't respect me enough to respect what I want. I have to want what you want or it doesn't count or its's no good. Well, I don't want what you want. And I don't see why I have to. I mean, as long as I respect what you want and let you live your life, why do you care?”

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“I want to gossip about forever / against the part of your back that / is mine.”

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“I want to wake up ev­ery day I have left to the warmth of your lips on mine, the sound of your voice singing next to me, the feel of your fin­gers on my skin and your heart beat­ing mu­sic with mine.”

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“He spoke just beneath her ear, his voice thick with tormented pleasure. "You have to leave, Sara ... because I want to hold you like this until your skin melts into mine. I want you in my bed, the smell of you on my sheets, your hair spread across my pillow. I want to take your innocence. God! I want to ruin you for anyone else."Blindly Sara flattened her hand on his cheek, against the scratch of newly grown beard. "What if I want the same?" she whispered.”

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