The best I can achieve To loving you Again Is a half-hearted glance At your heart. The beating, ****** ***** So pompous in its origin To feel the twinges of desire And the throat, so clear And so precise To tell me how You’d think I’d be perfectly wonderful And nice. And did I prove you wrong? Or did I do anything at all To express my adoration, Besides tell you pretty silvery things, Word soup on a platter, And cutting fierce glances Across an otherwise empty room? Did I do anything To prove love Even to myself? Besides take a train To LA, To find, of all things, An **** field Where I knew I would meet myself In disarray? Did I do anything Ever To surpass spirit and ***** Or am I just going To be the one That always wanted you In darkness and in light? Did I do anything but dream The whole unending, Maddening Night?