What darkened hallyways do we linger! What face cupped in my hands! What dangling jewelry and what eyes brim with big wet tears as I leave! What do I miss more? Is it the sweet taste of white skin on my dry lips? Is it tiny, tiny lips?

I think above it all it is the sharp intake of breath before our faces do wed. The sudden repulse before the resistance subsides. The low voiced "Kyle." That subtle frown atop those hips. Do I smile for love, for loveless life does reside? Am I the jettison youth on the urn? Am I consistently pleased with being consistently denied?

My admition is the love of her flaws. How God whittled her nose thin for to fit in a book, her vehemence against her creator who did such. Raw red lips when she's been crying. Raw red cheeks all the time. So I cannot boast of my liason, let me not preen on my distance of such a sepulchred beauty, but let me sneak into the shadows behind her ear, let me live in the mist of her scent.

But let me not live without her.