Those who know me well (or even a little) know that words are my drug of choice. They are the rush and the heat and the grief and the sex and the connection and the disassociation and the mother and the wolf and the deepest and truest heart of me. It is in the words...
You, lover, are so very beautiful. I know you don’t think so. I know you stand each morning, lift your face to the mirror and wage silent war on the skin and bones that hold you in this life. I know you do because I do too. But you are beautiful. You are beautiful...
