the way a ruin dies and comes back to life. so it was, you with me, us.
you never stop generating yourself, old and young city, maiden. i never quite reach your mouth, never sip all of your stone lips.
you start at the end, you invent a river, you keep the sun in a painting. you want sleepless lovers who crush all words against your body. you want your clean fluid, cathedral, absolute desire. you want the hunger of the insane which creates all the grammar of the future.