Now that I have lost you I cannot allow you to develop, you must be a photograph not a poem.

It doesn't have to be like that but mostly it is.

Their throats were bare for God.

Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no. It will break out in tongues of praise, the high note that smashes the glass and spills the liquid.

To create a past that seemed authentic but would be a fiction, you need an invented language.

Two hundred miles from the surface of the earth there is no gravity. The laws of motion are suspended. You could turn somersaults slowly slowly, weight into weightlessness, nowhere to fall. As you lay on your back paddling in space you might notice your feet had fled your head. You are stretching slowly slowly, getting longer, your joints are slipping away from their usual places. There is no connection between your shoulder and your arm. You will break up bone by bone, fractured from who you are, drifting away now, the centre cannot hold.

the power of a text is not time-bound. The words go on doing their work.