Brandon Desiderio

“Gregory was in the walls, in the crawl space between the board floor of the cabin and the bitter ground. He was gone, but he was everywhere. He was on the small pantry shelf where canning was removed. The air of the cabin still held Gregory. He filled and expanded every dark corner, tight, to exploding. He was jammed between her legs so that no matter how she moved, he was inside of Agnes. She couldn't shake him from her vestments or burn him from the stove. He nested in the books, of course. She couldn't stand to touch their pages. He was in the sweet, fragrant wood Mary Kashpaw chopped, split, and piled. In the cloth of curtains, the clasp of doors, he waited. She turned the handle, let the light in, and he came, too, solid and good and alive.”
― Louise Erdrich, The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse

“And his left nipple was centimetres above my right eye. I wanted to lean my head back and lick it – not from desire but from that idiocy always there to subvert desire and render it ludicrous. Our human heat was a third creature bevelling between us.”
― Samuel R. Delany, Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand

“Some cities are women and must be loved; others are men and can only be admired or bargained with.”
― Angela Carter, The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman

“Desire isn’t appeased by its object, only irritated into something more than desire that can join with the stars to inform the chaotic heavens with sense.”
― Samuel R. Delany, Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand