Eyes sparkling with blue open and stare a scalded soul at me.

We've been here before. She knows I won't stop until she screams. Her pride won't let her scream until she's on the cusp of death.

Kicking the door shut with the heel of my boot, I wedge her against it, raining kisses on her skin, wishing I could climb inside her and kiss away the welts left on her heart and mind.

Lifting, smiling back at her giggle, her relief, I tease, “If you want to bleed sweetheart, I can make you bleed. I promise if I do it will be way more fun.

Kissing her again, softly, I leave my t-shirt next to her pillow.It's the silent promise that I'll come back again tonight.

Desire filters toxins through my system at the sight and I lower again, shoving her against the padded wall to snake my tongue over the elixir of pain.

Pulped in his crushing strength, his hug is enough to smear me over his body like war paint.

Snatching my hand in the death grip of his fingers, he pulls me off the wall to line his chest, closing his body around me in a muscular cage which smells of leather and soap.

Just once, he looks back at Arsay, and I feel like an entire encyclopedia of information and words is exchanged between them. I wish I could speak telepathy too.

Hold tight, and I promise to do the same. We don't need a safety net Zena. We have each other.

He follows me down, catching his weight on either side of my head so he can leer his face into mine, coiling muscles and immobility at me, “I want you to lay into me. Fight me.

Soap?""School of America in Paris" he explains. "SOAP".Nice. My father sent me here to be cleansed.

You are not born to follow the society, you are born to inspire it - you are born to teach it - you are born to build it.

From long experience she knew that she wore her loneliness like armor. Very few people ever recognized it for what it was. To the casual observer it looked very much like arrogance. Sometimes it was.

I like things that go into hidden, mysterious places, places I want to explore that are very disturbing. In that disturbing thing, there is sometimes tremendous poetry and truth.

I like radically cutting into the painting, inserting these paper birds, and then trying to figure out how to believe in it.

Injuries made me a believer in cross-training.

Statistics are like bikinis-they show a lot but not everything.

The religions never wanted an art where you paint only what you see.

I always get more applause than votes.

I was always playing the hard-bitten drunk.