Your slit so like mine:

& the moon an orange slicetangy to the teethof lovers who lieunder it,sucking it.Somewhere there are palm trees;somewhere the seabluely gathers itself up& lets itself fall againinto green;somewhere the spanglesof light on the oceandazzle the eyes;but here in the midnight city,the black ship of nighthas dockedfor a long, dark stay,& even the citrus moonwith its…

wrapping my limbs incool linen, soothingthe fretfulnessof day glaring likethe Cyclops’ eyein a foreheadof furrows.But I wakealways reluctantly, brushingthe dreamcrumbsfrom my lids,walking sideways underwaterlike a crabspilling coffee,knocking the mugto the floorwhere it shattersin a muddy riverto my continuo of‘Shit, shit, shit!’What if deathis only a forgettingto wake in the morning,a dream that goes oninto other…

Because she wants to talk to him,she keeps silent.Because she wants to kiss him,she turns away& kisses a man she does not want to kiss.He watchesthinking she does not want him.He listenshearing her silence.He turns awaythinking her distant& kisses a girl he does not want to kiss.They marry each other –A four-way mistake.He goes to…

of telephone wires,you with your white paper soultrampled in transit,you with kaleidoscope stamps& black cancellations,you who put your finger on my heart as I slept,you whom I jostle in elevators,you whom I stare at in subways,you shopping for love in department stores. . .I write to you& someone else answers:the man who hates his wife&…

with its lemony tang, its tart sweetness& your whole body stings with singingso that your toes sing to your mouth& your navel whistles to your breasts& your breasts wave to everyoneas you walk down the summer street?What will you dowhen nothing will dobut to throw your arms around trees& men& greet every woman as sister&…

then stopped loving her,while she did notstop loving him.There is only one story:she loved him,then stopped loving him,while he did notstop loving her.The truth is simple:you do not diefrom love.You only wishyou did.