Thou Know'st 'tis Common; All That Lives

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.

I Stalk About Her Door, Like A Strange Soul Upon The Stygian Banks Staying For Waftage.

I...kisss The Tender Inward Of Thy Hand.

If [god] Send Me No Husband, For The Which Blessing I Am At Him Upon My Knees Every Morning And Evening.

The King Hath Note Of All That They Intend, By Interception Which They Dream Not Of.