Nobody dies from the lack of sex. Its lack of love we die from.

The Eskimo has fifty-names for snow because it is important to them there ought to be as many for love.

How could I be sleeping with this particular man.... Surely only true love could justify my lack of taste.

Hatred would have been easier. With hatred I would have known what to do. Hatred is clear metallic one-handed unwavering unlike love.

Falling in love we said I fell for him. We were falling women. We believed in it this downward motion so lovely like flying and yet at the same time so dire so extreme so unlikely. God is love they once said but we reversed that and love like heaven was always just around the corner. The more difficult it was to love the particular man beside us the more we believed in Love abstract and total. We were waiting always for the incarnation. That word made flesh.And sometimes it happened for a time. That kind of love comes and goes and is hard to remember afterwards like pain. You would look at the man one day and you would think I loved you and the tense would be past and you would be filled with a sense of wonder because it was such an amazing and precarious and dumb thing to have done and you would know too why your friends had been evasive about it at the time.There is a good deal of comfort now in remembering this.

A truth should existit should not be usedlike this. If I love youis that a fact or a weapon

Love blurs your vision but after it recedes you can see more clearly than ever. Its like the tide going out revealing whatevers been thrown away and sunk broken bottles old gloves rusting pop cans nibbled fishbodies bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes not knowing the future. The ruin youve made.

I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.

By now you must have guessed I come from another planet. But I will never say to you Take me to your leaders. Even I - unused to your ways though I am - would never make that mistake. We ourselves have such beings among us made of cogs pieces of paper small disks of shiny metal scraps of coloured cloth. I do not need to encounter more of them.Instead I will say Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts your sunsets your bad dreams your shoes your nouns. Take me to your fingers take me to your deaths.These are worth it. These are what I have come for.

In my dreams of this city I am always lost.