“I seek to be moved, my imagination reborn.Let me feast on poems that feed my hunger.”

“Intellectuals that approach me, only serve to feeding my intellectualism. Imaginists that approach me, only serve to enhancing my Imaginism. It's impossible to feed my I, for I am the Greatest 'I AM.”

“Out of my flesh that hungers and my mouth that knows comes the shape I am seeking for reason.”

“That dress…was a very, very good decision. I could write an entire poem on the virtues of your legs alone. You are a feast for the senses.” I laughed. “I don’t know about a feast. Maybe just an hors d'oeuvre.” He took my hand and wrapped it around his arm. “Not an hors d'oeuvre. The dessert. And I plan to spoil my appetite.”

“I will not feed your hunger, instead, I'll bite the pain.”

“Feed my sheep, feed my sheep," I repeated. "He didn't say, 'Feed my sheep after you check their ID.”