The narrow strength of your body reveals the orgasm force around my neck and shoulders. It collapses you upon my chest before you start on me. Before that, sixes, white and once a Russian icon from my beard, you think. These and your long sexual hunt, renewed somewhere from girlhood, come back to me here lying alone under a Saturday night hard-on. Beside the Black Rock Desert I am good for watching 30,000 feet beside the Black Rock Desert.
Lifetimes gain nothing between themselves.
They don't shed tears, and I don't cry. I cannot stop - or even moderate, and I want to write in a bound notebook, a gift from my daughter who bought for writing. Flyin g to DC is e-mail is writing. An imaginary engine burns and smokes in 50 year old smell. No system or force or regularity converges into a steady condition of being.