"Somewhere inside me there is an entire country named after you. Doors to rooms I built into the sides of mountains. My ribs – that tender mountain range of muscle and bone that still holds the memory of us. ..."
"You are five-years-old, sitting with your brothers and sister at the dining room table. You are eating eggs. You are not smiling. No one is. You won’t yet understand that not all families are like this. ..."
"The trashy magazines that you avoid at the market, but devour in the checkout line – they were made for us. We are beautiful monsters – no soul, but a body that you’d kill for. And you do. You overflow your bodies with so much water, you become a living, dying irony. ..."
"When we first met, you were a little beating black dot galloping across the rim of my cup like you were born to. You stared at the brown skin of my expresso as though you had a right to it. You charged toward my Rosetta like a bull. ..."