I Have Never Waited For

In Homosexual Love The Passion Is Homosexuality Itself. What A Homosexual Loves, As If It Were His Lover, His Country, His Art, His Land, Is Homosexuality.

Stormy Skies, Says Ernesto. He Grieved For Them. Summer Rain. Childhood.

The Words Emerge From Her Body Without Her Realizing It, As If She Were Being Visited By The Memory Of A Language Long Forsaken.

A Writer Is A Foreign Country

You Alone Became The Outer Surface Of My Life, The Side I Never See, And You Will Be That, The Unknown Part Of Me, Until I Die.