Clergyman's

“Finally when he climbed below deck after dark, wondering where his dinner was, perhaps with a storm come up and rough seas and blinding rains, I’d sulk and lure him into the warm and steamy darkness and from the hairs of his warm body I’d breed a myriad smiling, sparkle-eyed one-year-olds, my broods, my flocks. In the churning seas, below the waves, together inside our hammock woven in coarse sailcloth by Unguentine’s deft hands, a spherical webbed sack which hung and swivelled between the two walls of our bedroom, we would spin round and round with lapping tongues and the soft suction of lips, whirling, our amorous centrifuge, all night long, zipped inside against the elements. Now, years and years later, those nights, the thought and touch of them is enough to make me throw myself down on the ground and roll in the dust like a hen nibbled by mites, generating clouds, stars and all the rest.”
— Stanley Crawford

“She The voices of your whisperThe images of your memoryThe Music of your LaughThe Portrait of your SmileAre dancing on my MindThe Love The Warmth of your BreathThe Sensation of your TouchThe Presence of your AbsenceAre my desireThe Knowledge of your MindThe Irony of your JokesThe Desire to reach your DreamA Fighter Are my QualificationBut that Girl is slip awayCease to exist Memories keep repeatingReminiscingDying”
— Jhunmar Simila

“What the world really needs is more love and less paper work.”
– Pearl Bailey