'In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and...
"...my Lolita remarked: "You know, what's so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own"; and it struck me, as my automaton knees went up and down, that I simply did not know a thing about my darling's mind and that quite possibly, behind the awful juvenile clichés, there was in her a garden and a twilight, and a palace gate - dim and adorable regions which happened to be lucidly and absolutely forbidden to me, in my polluted rags and miserable convulsions..."
-- Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita
In that watery dream,
You and I is the only thing that matters
no wisps or deadly trails, no aphotics
or burning sclera for the sky
to pick at.
But then again, hell is other people
and their shallow eyes are staring right through mine
and they see nothing, and sometimes You do it too
in your hands and lips, smudged with oil,
some distant thing, image and quivering dream
and I hate you a moment,
I can't believe you would disown me in this way --
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