The bed we loved in was a spinning world
of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seas
where we would dive for pearls.

"My lover's words were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses on these lips;my body now a softer rhyme to his, now echo, assonance; his touch
a verb dancing in the centre of a noun."

"Some nights, I dreamed he'd written me,the bed a page beneath his writer's hands"

"Romance and drama played by touch, by scent, by taste. In the other bed, the best, our guests dozed on,dribbling their prose."

"living laughing love - I hold him in the casket of my widow's head as he held me upon that next best bed."