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.

He's going to bite me!Instantly the last light in the room fades out as if announcing the reign of darkness.

They tried to believe in their classmates. They must have believed that if we could all get together, then we might end up being saved. We should commend them for that. We couldn't do that.

Creative people are all there, totally immersed, fascinated and absorbed in the present, in the current situation, in the here-now, with the matter-in-hand.

The doors of churches, hotels, concert halls and reading rooms are alike closed against the Negro as a man, but every place is open to him as a servant.

Our relatives are ours by chance, but we can choose our friends.

The Gospel is not about going from bad to good, it's about going from dead to alive!

I guess I watch movies to make myself happier a lot.

It is less to suffer punishment than to deserve it. [Lat., Estque pati poenas quam meruisse minus.]

I would like travelers, especially American travelers, to travel in a way that broadens their perspective.

Everything appears to me to be authored, in some strange way. And I wonder if this is not the spreading assumption of the psychedelic illusion/delusion/revelation that life is in fact art.