of all the forms it has taken interrogations consultations autobiographical narratives letters recorded transcribed assembled into dossiers published and commented on

I’m sure that love will be our revenge the summer evenings’ considerable importance.  Though we have only love of the sea in common swallowed in a moment we had hardly begun.  I think that in loving you I might leap over becalmed seas that will never be the subject of a thousand poems.  This current stitching together the disparate imprisoned in symmetry.  Bear down until it almost breaks.  We are constantly submerged in almost touching.  I am writing because it is raining the patient suffering of forgetting the sound of rippled pages suspicious of spontaneity in first person.  Any romantic notions one might have of the word diary depresses our resemblance.  Gush restricted smile.