My Nature Is A Quagmire Of Unresolved

O Love, Where Are You Leading Me Now?

The Pattern Of The Narrative Never Of Necessity Wants To End, It Never Has To.

It Is Hard Going To The Door Cut So Small In The Wall Where The Vision Which Echoes Loneliness Brings A Scent Of Wild Flowers In The Wood.

My Love's Manners In Bed Are Not To Be Discussed By Me

Comes The Time When It's Later And Onto Your Table The Headwaiter Puts The Bill