& unexpected you taste of wine and smoke, and
you are the sun, sex,
death &
Bataille got it:
I cannot regard you other than through
this deceit of mirrors
Or be burnt, ravaged, transformed. & all such rehearsals, vanity: wax and wings.
I love you in a dazzle of haecceity — all that will burn, aflame
& lose you
to contingent, casual disregard. Your addresses changed so many times; I am with you nowhere.
