Subtle touches of spirit and body both received and given graciously excite an unknown itch for me to ignore What else, I reason, are emotions for? I don't pretend to see nothing for no purpose Rather, to ignore the reality of it's existence because I think in all possibilities there is a void to fill It must be platonic, without touch and only words
I relish being alone and separate and quiet without even the company of few From my position, I see clearly, that is not you You edit your gaze and attentions in my presence where I could be constantly, if I wished At every glance, hidden or sly, I notice and I shrink further inside myself each time
To what end are the gestures applied to my psyche as, certainly it must be obvious you must facilitate growth in me, as I halt my growth at command I do, I must because I can control it If not myself, then anyone I meet is victim to the matherings and manipulations of mind I propose and then set in stone You musn't be aware