Quotes About Intimacy

That common cold of the male psyche, fear of commitment.

Moonlight making crosses on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.

We still groped for each other on the backstairs or in parked cars as the road around us grew glossy with ice and our breath softened the view through the glass already laced with frost, but more frequently I was finding myself sleepless, and he was running out of lullabies. But damn if there isn't anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car, a bottle of pills.

Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.

We're shooting the scene where I swallow your heart and you make me spit it up again. I swallow your heart and it crawls right out of my mouth. You swallow my heart and flee, but I want it back now, baby. I want it back.

Let's admit, without apology, what we do to each other.

Someone once told me that explaining is an admission of failure. I'm sure you remember, I was on the phone with you, sweetheart.

You are playing cards with three Jeffs. One is your father, one is your brother, and the other is your current boyfriend. All of them have seen you naked and heard you talking in your sleep. Your boyfriend Jeff gets up to answer the phone. To them he is a mirror, but to you he is a room.

In the dream I don't tell anyone, you put your head in my lap.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.

I've been in your body, baby, and it was paradise. I've been in your body and it was a carnival ride.

I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.

Here we are, at the place where I get to beg for it. Where I get to say 'Please, for just one night, will you lay down next to me? We can leave our clothes on, we can stay all buttoned up?' But we both know how it goes – I say I want you inside me and you hold my head underwater. I say I want you inside me and you split me open with a knife.

Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.

The boy's no good. The boy is just no good. / but he takes you in his arms and pushes your flesh around to see if you could ever be ugly to him.

I'm sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.

You could love this boy with all your heart.

Do you want it? Do you want anything I have? Will you throw me to the ground like you mean it, reach inside and wrestle it out with your bare hands? If you love me, Henry, you don't love me in a way I understand.

Lie down on the bed, you're all I ever wanted and worth dying for too... but I think I'd rather keep the bullet.

I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you've taken something out of me, and I have to search my body for the scars, thinking Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in?

Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.

Don't move. Keep staring straight into my eyes.

It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it's more like a song on a policeman's radio, how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces.