Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?
So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.
After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.
The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
And I, love, am a pathological liar.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.