We Know So Little About Each Other.

She Would Simply Wait On The Bridge, Calm And Obstinate, Until Events, Real Events, Not Her Own Fantasies, Roe To Her Challenge, And Dispelled Her Insignificance.

And Feeling Clever, I've Always Thought, Is Just A Sigh Away From Being Cheerful.

Love Doesn't Grow At A Steady Rate, But Advances In Surges, Bolts, Wild Leaps, And This Was One Of Those.

Self-consciousness Is The Destroyer Of Erotic Joy.

Could It Ever Be Explained, How Matter Becomes Conscious?