It is still news to her that passion could steer her wrong though she went down, a thousand times strung outcross railroad tracks, off bridge sunder cars, or stiff glass bottle still in hand, hair soften greasy pillows, still it sinews she cannot follow love (his burning footsteps in blue crystal snow) & still come out all right.

— Diane di Prima

More or Less Love Poems #11:No babe We'd never Swing together butte syncopation would be something wild

— Diane di Prima

There are as many kinds of kisses as there are people on earth, as there are permutations and combinations of those people. No two people kiss alike—no two people fuck alike—but somehow the kiss is more personal, more individualized than the fuck.

— Diane di Prima