To See You Naked Is

The Night Below. We Two. Crystal Of Pain. You Wept Over Great Distances. My Ache Was A Clutch Of Agonies Over Your Sickly Heart Of Sand.

We're All Curious About What Might Hurt Us.

The Bride, The White Bride Today A Maiden, Tomorrow A Wife.

Angel And Muse Approach From Without; The Angel Sheds Light And The Muse Gives Form (hesiod Learned Of Them). Gold Leaf Or Chiton-folds: The Poet Finds His Models In His Laurel Coppice. But The Duende, On The Other Hand, Must Come To Life In The Nethermost Recesses Of The Blood.

Pero Yo Ya No Soy Yo Ni Mi Casa Es Ya Mi Casa. But Now I Am No Longer I, Nor Is My House Any Longer My House.