'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...
i wear pink like the tones of my flesh; all sorts i am sweet as all sorts when i pour your morning coffee; i am lollipop sweet like a lick of the lips where the sugar crystalises on the bottle lid -- your hands skid on the countertop and pinch my waist with shrill laughter -- i remember what it is -- crushing the jewels on my cheeks -- what it is to want again. and it is only feather light, a captured pupil, a tap on the shoulder, a hand feeling in my pocket for pens and a presence by my side -- white paper and your long climbing lines.
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