sounds like an inviationnburning with elation left unsignednno sign, path, yard or stationnno minless recreation to unwindnthough she gives no direction nbut only asks protection from herselfnHer love sprung from afection nturns into blind aggression nnNo telegram no message homenno body speaks no one to phonenher path is the other past unknownnbut when its light shes gonennmy expiring subscriptionnto her dated amunition comes to mindnyou reflex my conditionna hopeless disposition of our timenno progressive action, no other used contraptionntell me whynA senseable conectionnreleaves me from perfectionnnNo telegram no message homenno body speaks no one to phonenher path is the other past unknownnbut when its light shes gone