From a bird the distance. From I love you, shadow. From again. River, water, well, pendulum; the search. Again the perfume of the clock. Again invisible hermetic night. That loneliness that is bundled with her own braids. Your saliva waiting. Enough face. I have your hand and you are born. You forget the sorrows and certainties spinning like crazy whirlwinds of misery.
Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.