There Was No Lo To Behold.

Humbert Was Perfectly Capable Of Intercourse With Eve, But It Was Lilith He Longed For.

Lolita, Light Of My Life, Fire Of My Loins. My Sin, My Soul.

I Could Isolate, Consciously, Little. Everything Seemed Blurred, Yellow-clouded, Yielding Nothing Tangible. Her Inept Acrostics, Maudlin Evasions, Theopathies - Every Recollection Formed Ripples Of Mysterious Meaning. Everything Seemed Yellowly Blurred, Illusive, Lost.

And What Is Death, If Not A Face At Peace - Its Artistic Perfection.

The Tiny Madman In His Padded Cell.