The sweet flames of youth
eagerly eat up
the direction our charms wish to go.
Seventeen times she said yes.
But you loved her when she said no.
I want to tell you something I’ve learned.
Why in our little space we should be safe
but every bedroom is burned.
It is because there is no little space. There is no far away.
No one can say no.
There are no great distances. There is no room.
The flames of youth eat us. O fabulous doom.
Distance does not make geometry.
Geometry makes distance. Now do you see?
Three already happened
when you counted to three.
As you burned, you came apart
next to the best of me.
Stupid cunning of the anguished heart.