Your hair - short, long; stars, a bed
under stars, moon; your stars, your moon,
your embrace, your circumstances, my
buttons, your earrings; your collections
of moonlight in darkened rooms - let it all
fall when it will: so surrounded are we
already by all that we have lost
to each other, we could be god and goddess,
we could be grass and sky, flower and tree,
two of anything in romantic proximity. But
we are - that's it - one man and one woman,
alike we choose to believe. But it
(you and me) wasn't always that way,
or not so very much that very way - us.
- Marvin Bell
Nightworks, p. 145