.


                              I will grip you by my armsbreadth
                                                        as you just beg i n   t o    f  a   d    e      ;

                              I'll preserve you by the handfulls
                                                       as you swiftly s
                                                                           e
                                                                           e
                                                                            p away;
                              I'll reduce you to a syrup,
                                                       that your essence concentrates;

                              'till your gaze is unfamiliar
                                                       and your smiles are b l u r r e d and s t r a n g e

                              'till your scent is duly noted
                                                       and your name is  t i n g e d  with grey

                              'till you're shrunk to mere sensations,
                                                       'till your voice won't r e s o n a t e


                         Until all of the spice I loved you for
                                                                      is honeyed bland and  v a  g    u     e    .      .       .





                                                                                                                                               .