I Write As If To

Holding Someone's Hand Was Always My Idea Of Joy.

I Want The Following Word: Splendor, Splendor Is Fruit In All Its Succulence, Fruit Without Sadness. I Want Vast Distances. My Savage Intuition Of Myself.

You Don't Understand Music: You Hear It. So Hear Me With Your Whole Body.

To Think Is An Act. To Feel Is A Fact.

I Hear The Mad Song Of A Little Bird And Crush Butterflies Between My Fingers.