My Lips Got Lost On

When I Say The Word You, I Mean A Hundred Universes.

Every Prophet And Every Saint Has A Way, But All Lead To God. All Ways Are Really One.

Your Depression Is Connected To Your Insolence And Refusal To Praise.

There Are No Edges To My Loving Now.

Without You The Instruments Would Die. One Sits Close Beside You. Another Takes A Long Kiss. The Tambourine Begs, Touch My Skin So I Can Be Myself. Let Me Feel You Enter Each Limb Bone By Bone, That What Died Last Night Can Be Whole Today. Why Live Some Soberer Way, And Feel You Ebbing Out? I Won't Do It. Either Give Me Enough Wine Or Leave Me Alone, Now That I Know How It Is To Be With You In Constant Conversation.