When She Kissed Him, He

Writing Is A Futile Attempt To Preserve What Disappears Moment By Moment. All That Remains Of My Mother Is What I Remember And What I Have Written For And About Her. Eventually That Is All That Will Remain Of [my Husband] And Me. Writing Sometimes Feels Frivolous And Sometimes Sacred, But Memory Is One Of My Strongest Muses. I Serve Her With My Words. So Long As People Read, Those We Love Survive However Evanescently. As Do We Writers, Saying With Our Life's Work, Remember. Remember Us. Remember Me.

Purple As Tulips In May, Mauve Into Lush Velvet, Purple As The Stain Blackberries Leave On The Lips, On The Hands, The Purple Of Ripe Grapes Sunlit And Warm As Flesh.

Every Jewish Holiday Has A Religious Significance, A Historical Significance, And A Relevance To The Time Of Year In The Natural Calendar Of The Seasons And Trees And Growing Things, As Well As A Personal Significance. So You Are Always Looking Backward, Outward, Inward And Forward.

Obviously I Find Women More Interesting Than Men To Write About.

It Is Not Sex That Gives The Pleasure, But The Lover.