Loneliness

Loneliness

There is in loneliness an exquisiteness which longs to be imbibed unadulterated, like absinthe without sugar. Some delicate flavour among the varied bitterness demands to be tasted of unenwrapt in words or harmony. A call to such an inception of pleasure ensues wildly from the struck gong of a lost half-chance and whips through my hair, wailing from the fenestrations of Never.