lovers

You break me the hardest, make me the strongest, and keep me the softest.

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

I could watch him do this until morning _ never asking questions and never interrupting his work. I worship quietly _ his intense focus and attention to detail and then, out of no where, I realize the inconvenient, inappropriate truth: __ love this man_ and it has swallowed me.

You turn me on from across the room, and I__l completely melt if you come any closer.

all my lifei have looked for poemsto elope with.

Maybe that was why the French called orgasms __as petites morts_: because the things that bring us passion tend to slip past our defenses, to creep insidiously into every facet of our consciousnesses and kill us as ruthlessly, and efficiently, as any drug.

No matter how far apart we may be, no matter what dreams we may chase after individually, I want you to know that you will always be my first priority. I will always, always love you.

Everyone needs someone who can show them what heaven looks like.

In front of him stood the woman of his dreams, giving him one last chance to kiss her.Reason didn__ stand a chance.

And if the stars should ever die, we'll make our own light, you and I.

You keep looking at me like that and we won't make it through dinner. I'll take you right there on that counter. No doubt you'd taste better.

You askif I will write a poemI could,I supposewrite the mostsplendiferousone of allbut notrightnownot whenyour handsare brewingwarmcinnamon teaacross my skinnot when I__trying to imaginewhat might happenif you beganfloweringkissesuponmeMy dear,how canI writea poemwhen I__ alreadyinside one?

Passion lingers on a state of blissLove loves you more when you kiss

...perhaps, also this short embrace may infuse in their veins a little of this thrill which they would not have known without it, and will give to those two dead souls, brought to life in a second, the rapid and divine sensation of this intoxication, of this madness which gives to lovers more happiness in an instant than other men can gather during a whole lifetime.

It's not sad that I don't love you anymore, it's I can't love anyone anymore.

I want your hand without the skin. Bone to bone without the molds. Mouth to mouth, without the porn.

Falling in love is easy. Falling in love with the same person repeatedly is extraordinary.

She wanted to write to him. Tell him she was glad he was back, that he was alive, that he was home and safe. But words to him no longer fit right in her her mouth.Words which belonged in his ownership were no longer hers to give. Silence was the only acceptable state her heart would grant. He would never know what he missed, because she refused to be heard in his presence. All the words he could have had, all the phrases he might have danced with. The smiles which would have been imprinted upon his heart, would never be. And his lips would never be able to reply to the words she could not say.