but if i never deserved to feel love the first time, why would i deserve to do anything like love again? wasn't the first time stolen, against all odds, against overwhelming evidence? something filched from time, put into place only
by virtue of
a fugitive
will?
there is a song
casting its thin thread
across Stygian waters:
vanesa, vanesa,
i drank
nothing
from the chalice
of your face.