—and there was no dance,
no holy place
from which we were absent."
who sits across from you?
face to face, close enough, to sip
your voice’s sweetness,
but my tongue stills, and then all at once
a subtle fire races inside my skin,
my eyes can’t see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing
cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes
ahold of me all over: I’m greener than the grass is
and appear to myself to be little short of dying.