Justin, my Dearest Virgin of the Sea, so pure in your actions through conviction, would you kiss me to be kind, or is it sincere? Virgin, my dear, would you love me by force, or by will? Would you turn away when things got complicated, because it is the right thing to do, to leave an affair before hatred consumes it? Would you walk away, because it is easy?
Over there in Cornwall, my Virgin of the Sea, where you are more woman than man, is it great fun to pretend I am not real, but a fabrication built in the dullest part of your brain? And does my accent seem plain to you?
These times have brought with it rain, but still nothing substantial grows. The fruit is hollow on the inside.
It is a slow connection, or a bad one. It is easy to move on to the next. We are as much machines, as the things that have stolen our hours.