So I kiss him, and there is the great dark sea ahead.
I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.
I hadn't, at the last moment, felt like washing off the two diagonal lines of dried blood that marked my cheeks. They seemed touching, and rather spectacular, and I thought I would carry them around with me, like the relic of a dead lover, till they wore off of their own accord.
Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse.
I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.