Some people will not open their mouths to one another even when they kiss and others need to push people to act against their will and some people need to be coerced to do everything begging only to be pushed around. When people won’t tell you what they are doing don’t you want to say things very differently as if to prompt a response of which they are incapable. Now I am counting on my fingers for the time to pass and calling forth each of you by your right names.
Glancing at the wall where you smile young and lovely your body composed in water and air I imagine the tissue as it changes to a jelly fueling the insubstantial presence I unavoidably recall or address, however partially and cannot trust, suffering your absence living still at a distance no knowledge can bridge across which no conversation can occur, feeling as one who talks to himself in a bizarre context, hoping to utter something that has not been predicted to hear your voice again saying what you now think.
Now I have searched through her possessions, know why she has come here and what she intends. Now I know her smell, the unnecessary objects she carries for protection, why she has not told me certain things it would be hard to believe.
Your amazing questions cause holes in the air to appear out of nowhere as do targets in a shooting gallery and summon disbelief in each particular of my understanding, a terrible truth one wishes only to destroy, like hornets before my face regarded with a wholly doomed studiousness and the fascination of a child: that it is happening to me, that it is happening now.
From A Book of Romance