The Silence Is Perfect, And

Our Friendship Is Made Up Of These Brief Frenzied Exchanges, But The Quality Of Our Conversation, For All Its Feverish Outpouring, Is Genuine.

The Scolding Voice Is Her Own, So Abrasive And Quick, Yet So Powerless To Move Her.

Here's To Another Year And Let's Hope It's Above Ground.

So This Is Where The Years Of Maturity Deliver Us - To This Needy, Selfish, Unwieldy Wish To Be Somebody Else's First And Primal Other.

Why Should Men Be Allowed To Strut Under The Privilege Of Their Life Adventures, Wearing Them Like A Breast Full Of Medals, While Women Went All Gray And Silent Beneath The Weight Of Theirs?