And perhaps, I'm a Tuesday night and you're a Wednesday morning the way we'll never even notice how we blend into each other.

Decades from now, my grandchild is going to be a poet... And she's going to write about how she's a living testament to how her grandmother made love to hurricane and calmed the storm.

He loved me like thick molasses on a summer's day. Pure, sweet, sticky, warm, dark.

Cultivate the distance. Nurture the silence. Let it grow until your fragile heart is as far and inaccessible as his marbled emotions. Don't talk. Don't move. Sit still. If he shows up, lie. Believe your own excuses.And if he tries to charm his way back in, punch him in the face.

But when I think of us,in the quiet when I'm on my own,I think of Beauty and the Beast.I, being the beast, and you being the last beautiful thing in this city.

You were a furious bulland I was a china shopwith beautiful red curtains.