My Love's Manners In Bed Are Not

I Know This Body Is Impatient. I Know I Constitute Only A Meager Voice And Mind. Yet I Loved, I Love. I Want No Sentimentality. I Want No More Than Home.

My Wife And I Lived All Alone, Contention Was Our Only Bone. I Fought With Her, She Fought With Me, And Things Went On Right Merrily. But Now I Live Here By Myself With Hardly A Damn Thing On The Shelf, And Pass My Days With Little Cheer Since I Have Parted From My Dear.

I Will Go To The Garden. I Will Be A Romantic. I Will Sell Myself In Hell, In Heaven Also I Will Be.

What Has Happened Makes The World. Live On The Edge, Looking.

Writing Is The Same As Music. It’s In How You Phrase It, How You Hold Back The Note, Bend It, Shape It, Then Release It. And What You Don’t Play Is As Important As What You Do Say.