Memory Is The Fourth Dimension

It's All I Ever Really Wanted, That Revelation. The Possibility Of Fixed Stars.

They Dream Of Men With Gentle Hands, Eloquent With Tenderness, Fingers That Brushed Along A Cheek, That Outlined Open Lips In The Lovers' Braille. Hands That Sculpted Sweetness From Sullen Flesh, That Traced Breast And Ignited Hips, Opening, Kneading. Flesh Becomes Bread In The Heat Of Those Hands, Braided And Rising.

That Kind Of Tenderness Couldn't Be Permitted To Last. You Only Got A Taste, Enough To Know What Perfection Meant, And Then You Paid For It The Rest Of Your Life. Like The Guy Chained To A Rock, Who Stole Fire. The Gods Made An Eagle Eat His Liver For All Eternity. You Paid For Every Second Of Beauty You Managed To Steal.

Aquamarines Grew With Emeralds, Claire Told Me. But Emeralds Were Fragile And Always Broke Into Smaller Pieces, While Aquamarines Were Stronger, Grew In Huge Crystals Without Any Trouble, So They Weren't Worth As Much. It Was The Emerald That Didn't Break That Was The Really Valuable Thing.

We Have No Home, She Told Me. I Am Your Home.