the sapphire depthof my own love...startlesand warmsand wounds my soul.

There is never a time or place for love. It happens accidentally. Oops!

But I have seen the best of you and the worst of you, and I choose both

The machines are too dull when weare lion-poems that move & breathe.

I balance you on the end of my pen.Teetering between loveand letting go.

It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once a poem.

There is a girl who still writes you; she doesn’t know how not to.

There is bad in all good authors: what a pity the converse isn't true!

Books have power to bring you glory or doom, it all depends on perception.

Words mean nothingActions are everythingExpect nothingAppreciate everything

savorwith methe lushnessof a lingering sleep...and last night’sdream.

A poem in the heart is worthmore than a million dollarsin the bank account.

One might regurgitate their own words a million times. They spoke/wrote them.

I’m alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.

I bleed to un-break you,un-mending me.I fall to save you...now who will save me.