She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.

I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.

God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.

We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!

As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.