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?

Why else would two people shuttheir green blinds and halffall into each other?

I supposethere are grips from which even angels cannot fly.Even imagined ones.

It lasts like this no matter what I do.