love your city


sailing to byzantium
May 16, 2011, 20:44
Filed under: floetry

the time, the place, the torture. her fan, her gloves, her mask. i spent that night and many others getting it out of her bit by bit, but not getting it all. i was under the strange delusion that first i must find out every detail, reconstruct every minute, and only then decide whether i could bear it. but the limit of desired knowledge was unattainable, nor could i ever foretell the approximate point after which i might imagine myself satiated, because of course the denominator of every fraction of knowledge was potentially as infinite as the number of intervals between the fractions themselves. – v. nabokov, “that in aleppo once…” 

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