But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit. — William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice Act II. Scene vi.
She imagined herself both queen and slave, dominatrix and victim. In her imagination she was making love with men of all skin colors–white, black, yellow–with homosexuals and beggars. She was anyone’s, and anyone could do anything to her. She had one, two, three orgasms, one after another. She imagined everything she had never imagined before,… Continue reading Paulo Coelho
It is almost three I sit at the marble top sorting poems, miserable the little lamp glows feebly I don’t glow at all I have another cognac and stare at two little paintings of Jean-Paul’s, so great I must do so much or did they just happen the breeze is cool barely a sound filters… Continue reading Frank O’Hara