Is it not love that knows how to make smooth things rough and rough things smooth?

How rarely these few years, as work keeps up aloof,Or fares, or one thing or another,How we had days to spend under our parents' roof;Myself, my sister, and my brother.All five of us will die; to reckon from the pastThis flesh and blood is unforgiving.What's hard is that just one of us will be the lastTo bear it all and go on living.

What is the difference between my life and my love? One gets me low, the other lets me go.

And an equation is the same whether it's written in red or green ink

UnclaimedTo make love with a stranger is the best.There is no riddle and there is no test. –To lie and love, not aching to make senseOf this night in the mesh of reference.To touch, unclaimed by fear of imminent day,And understand, as only strangers may.To feel the beat of foreign heart to heartPreferring neither to prolong nor part.To rest within the unknown arms and knowThat this is all there is; that this is so.

All you who sleep tonight Far from the ones you love, No hand to left or right, An emptiness above-- Know that you aren't alone. The whole world shares your tears, Some for two nights or one, And some for all your years.