It was Union Square, I remember.
Perhaps you'll tire of me.
There is a kind of love called maintenance
That fucking Hemingway
Quiet, by the window of a train
If you were to read my work; all of it I mean.
I give the secret sign.
Of Onions.
You are the bread, the wine, the knife.
I would thank you not for a Valentine
Wallet
Every time I play solitaire my partner beats me
I simply could not be a good army wife
Less than a pound in change
Seeing you make me want to lift up my top
I am breaking in the new maid for the master of the house
Quiet, drinking wine together, one smokes
I remember the nights and the sound of nights
I look at the mountains. Everything seems flat by comparison
By this axe
Thou shalt know my chosen by their ASBOs
Oh Allen, come and hold my hand.
As far as I know they were working in France.
Darling we've been out a little longer than Columbus
They eat sand eels
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