You're the head injury I've always longed for,what I call thinking.

In this waythe changes I want I don't haveto suffer.

Who has waited longest for this kiss?

What if the inanimate were forced into motion?

What if they didn't know how to feel,not even how they were supposed to feel.Imagine: there would be no mercy in them.

I said no—and then it was abuzz inside me,all wings, restless—

Raw lust for romance—

I have only to touch you to be suddenly liftedinto the cradle of your arms, to surrender completely . . . .

They pick and play me, as if I were made for them.What was I made for, then?