Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.