This fire that we call Loving is too strong for human minds. But just right for human souls.

I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps outLooking, with its hooks, for something to love.

You with your light meter and relaxed itinerary,Let not our naive labours have been in vain!

No truer word, save God's, was ever spoken,Than that the largest heart is soonest broken.

We are metered only by our own machines,while the book is a clock that forgets her machanics.

As it has been said:Love and a coughcannot be concealed.Even a small cough.Even a small love.

A song is the exultation of the mind dwelling on eternal things, bursting forth in the voice.

Soy el desesperado, la palabra sin ecos, el que lo perdiò todo, y el que todo lo tuvo.

I do not write to you, but of you,/because the paper that we write on/is our perishable skin.

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; I am also call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell

I'm Artistry through Fluent and Flowing Poetry in Motion and I'm Letting it Flow.....

If Springtime crawls out of thewild mouths of flowers, thensurely, Winter crawls out of mine.

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.

Love’s language starts, stops, starts; the right words flowing or clotting in the heart.

Honest criticism and sensible appreciation are directed not upon the poet but upon the poetry.