We Read So That We

She Laughed So Easily When She Was Happy. But Also When She Was Sad.

I'm A Fish Swimming By...catch Me If You Want Me.

Once You Get Below The Floor Of Our Personal Identities, We're All Connected. Perhaps That's Why We Can Move Into Others' Lives.

Poppies Bleed Petals Of Sheer Excess. You And I, This Sweet Battle Ground.

They Dream Of Men With Gentle Hands, Eloquent With Tenderness, Fingers That Brushed Along A Cheek, That Outlined Open Lips In The Lovers' Braille. Hands That Sculpted Sweetness From Sullen Flesh, That Traced Breast And Ignited Hips, Opening, Kneading. Flesh Becomes Bread In The Heat Of Those Hands, Braided And Rising.