• Our checks are pale. Our wallets are invalids.
    Past due, past due, is what our bills are saying
    and yet we kiss in every corner, scuffing the dust
    and the cat. Love rises like bread as we go bust.

    Anne Sexton (1978). “Words for Dr. Y.: uncollected poems with three stories”, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt (HMH)