"I wrote poems inside of her with my fingers. Our story began with her scream. And ended with her soul on my lips."

"These are the lips, powerful rudders pushing through groves of kelp, the girl's terrible, unsweetened taste of the whole ocean, its fathoms: this is that taste."

"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."

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"Once in civics class, he touched my blouse like it was a page he wanted to turn. For a second, I went transparent, lightheaded: a whiff of helium or ether, a sheet of tracing paper or a tea leaf; slight as the exhalation it takes to say my name."

"Wild nights - Wild nights! Were I with thee/Wild nights should be/Our luxury! Futile - the winds - to a Heart in port - Done with the Compass - Done with the Chart!

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