A Woman Who Writes Feels Too Much.

Everyone In Me Is A Bird I Am Beating All My Wings

The Body Is A Damn Hard Thing To Kill.

To Die Whole, Riddled With Nothing But Desire For It, Is Like Breakfast After Love.

My Mouth Blooms Like A Cut.

The Beautiful Feeling After Writing A Poem Is On The Whole Better Even Than After Sex, And That's Saying A Lot.