Findings:

Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "the kid across the street named her; she was underweight when she first arrived"

She always was devious in her beauty
She bought a new smile every week when we first started seeing each other. Then I had to buy them.
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
When she was bad
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
She probably thought your first language was English; your real first language was Joyce
I'm sorry I was speeding, officer, but I really have to get to the hospital
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
She was never mine. I always shared her.
someday, when she will think back upon the time when she was as yet undishonored
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
She was very beautiful. Y'know?
She was free
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
This is the first time she's texted me since the morning she left.
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
She knew what she was doing
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
Her name was Natalie
To a girl who thought she was moving away
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
I was tired. It was late. She was Russian.
Is it fair for him to love me when she craves his touch?
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
She was coming out as he was going in.
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She was like a candle in the wind: unreliable
What the hell was she thinking?
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
His face when she fell
She was so pleased to learn that she was right
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
She was buttery. She was asking for it. She was delicious. Let's all give in.
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
serene. She sips her tea
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
She had become a mutton for punishment and he was a wolf
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
when she saw the funny side, we introduced my child bride to whisky and gin
She was steady
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She knows no truth except her own.
She was the cutest necromancer I ever did see
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
And she flew halfway across the world for those five minutes
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
She keeps her lies everywhere
she was waylaid by an octopus
She practices her speech
God is a pretty girl across the bar who smiles and waves in your direction; and you think she is waving at you
And when she turned into a man, we were so proud
Jessica, too tall but still lovely, was not sure she would or should drop the whale
When I was a kid, I wanted to get tuberculosis
As She Climbed Across the Table
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
if you walk across the street in this town with someone, make sure the guy's name isn't Jay Walker
She thought about giving him her heart
She is lobbing rainbows at me from across the room and I am swallowing them like fear.
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
Existentialism is that girlfriend who cheated on you. Postmodernism is who she was with.
He dreamt he was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty bed
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
She is stupidly keeping herself a secret, when I know she has sparkly things to show me
She was watching me and I didn’t know it.
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
The House on the Island Where She Was Born
She is what happens when silence makes love with night.
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
I said I was sorry. Then she looked at me.
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
she was just the dry smell of gasoline
At night, her eyes closed, she would
It is her name that I think of when I think about being in love.
she had already found her party
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
She will remember your heart when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits
The girl didn't know if she was loved until he said yes.
she lit her thumb on fire
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
He was an ant on an ill-defined mission. She was the trapdoor spider of love.
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
And When She Sings
When you can almost recognize her face, but you can't remember her name
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
She was feminine in the most displaced sense I had ever seen, a known quality refracted through stained glass windows.
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
She asked me to read her a poem
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
she gave her heart to a falling star
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
She always confused her greys with white.
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
She dumped me when she found out I'd been faking my Scottish accent
She moved so easily all I could think of was sunlight
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
I would have liked thunder when she left
She was thinking of a boy in California who had a couch and a job
She handed me my first sharpened pencil.
She always was all tea and oranges that came all the way from China
She dreamt she was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty field
piano outside in the snow. and she was spinning
she named it killer and took it to the beach to play in the sand
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
The Abridged Edition: She was to one side, he was to the other, an untested bridge between them
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
The flowers smiled, but she was gone
She flies with her own wings
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
I don't like her because she won't like me
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
She was cilantro, jalapeño, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
She was the seed of a strange tomorrow
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
"He was a terrible man," she sobbed, between bites of alimony
I don't remember what her name was so let's call her Doris
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
The portion of her face she allows me to see
She was pain and pleasure all at once, wrapped up in needles and Ramones T-shirts
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
the way she wears her weary
does she need to touch her own face to know?
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She is and was
She Will Have Her Way
Outside the train station she was the only person wearing an Orange raincoat and a look of surprise
Venus, when she is the evening star
She was locked in time
When she died
Because, perhaps she was cold
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
She was too beautiful to be human
She was so tall, and I was so in love
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
Fast-talking career gal who thought she was one of the boys

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