We Are Bound Together By The Sympathy

I Am A Worker, A Tombstone Mason, Anxious To Pleace Averyburies And Jully Glad When Christmas Comes His Once Ayear.

Our Souls, Shamewounded By Our Sins, Cling To Us Yet More, A Woman To Her Lover Clinging, The More The More. She Trusts Me, Her Hand Gentle, The Longlashed Eyes. Now Where The Blue Hell Am I Bringing Her Beyond The Veil? Into The Ineluctable Modality Of The Ineluctable Visuality. She, She, She. What She?

Absence, The Highest Form Of Presence.

But My Body Was Like A Harp And Her Words And Gestures Were Like Fingers Running Upon The Wires.

Very Gratefully, With Grateful Appreciation, With Sincere Appreciative Gratitude, In Appreciatively Grateful Sincerity Of Regret, He Declined.