“The trouble with writing about someone is that it can only be done once tastefully. Every poem after is an attempt to exceed the limits of the page, an attempt to extend the previously granted infiniteness of the precise one time.”

“The only thing standing between myself and true love is my stomach, always poking out at the most inconvenient times. When I press myself against my lover, my body immediately creates enough space between my soul and hers with my gut. Just enough room for the Holy Ghost to slip through…”

“If I were a preacher, I’d tell you / love is everywhere. People are everywhere. / Rice is everywhere. Hugs are everywhere./ God is everywhere. God is in you, love is / in God so that makes us all love —right?”