But The Problem Is To Make The

But The Problem Is To Make The Soul Into A Monster

Faith Assuages, Guides, Restores.

No One's Serious At Seventeen.

You Feel On Your Lips A Kiss Fluttering, A Tiny Scrap Of Life.

Oh! If Only We Were Naked Now, And Free To Watch Our Protruding Parts Align; To Whisper - Both Of Us - In Ecstasy!