i could write you sexy poetry but there wouldn't be any point. i could use these 26 keys and my space bar to capture all the tastes, touches, smells, feelings, and sounds that made your toes curl, but there wouldn't be any point. you see, no set of syllables or series of sentences will schlepp yo' ass back to me. no medical doctor could make us healthy. no architect could build us up where we were weak. i see, finally, that THAT's the point. fuck me for spilling all of my dignity on that last declaration and for torching my cloak with that last confession.