It's just me throwing myself at you, romance as usual, us times us, not lust but moxibustion, a substance burning close to the body as possible without risk of immolation.
Silence is so steadfast, you know. It is so ample, after all.
Anguish is the universal language
... It's the rare God who needs less stroking that a rock Star or poetician ...
Nothing will unfold for us unless we move toward what looks to us like nothing: faith is a cascade.
