Written on the Body

We consumed each other and went hungry again.

I will explore you and mine you and you will redraw me according to your will. We shall cross one another’s boundaries and make ourselves one nation. Scoop me in your hands for I am good soil. Eat of me and let me be sweet.

I love you and my love for you makes any other life a lie.’

The door was open. True, she didn’t exactly open it herself. Her butler opened it for her. His name was Boredom. She said, ‘Boredom, fetch me a plaything.’ He said, ‘Very good ma’am,’ and putting on his white gloves so that the fingerprints would not show he tapped at my heart and I thought he said his name was Love.

Will I cherish you, adore you, make way for you, make myself better for you, look at you and always see you, tell you the truth? And if love is not those things then what things?

Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no.

What then kills love? Only this: Neglect.

I won’t eat what I can’t kill

although I noticed how little comfort was to be got from familiar things. How dare they stay the same when so much that mattered had changed?

I’ve found before that ceaseless menial work calms the rat-cage of the mind.