“I know my breasts, small as plums, would win no blue ribbons. But in your hands they tremble and fill with song like plump, white birds.” HandsPoetrySongLoversBreastsBirds Book:The Wingless Source: The Wingless
“Consider my Lover; the yellow church of his skin, the clean wells of his ears; How the notes of a song come to him like birds descending on a power line; How in his absence I am of two throats--each of them cramped.” LoveSongLoversLongingBirdsSkin Book:The Wingless Source: The Wingless