She has eyes that burn me. Her words cleanse me. Reality is nothing new. Nor is it real. In a desperate attempt to be pure. We can only save ourselves, Through one another. I read her book that summer. Now the winter is colder than before. Without those long evenings of lust. And for the first time, in what seems forever. I was more honest than ever. Now our love lies on a telephone line. And in a visit a few times a year. I consume myself once more. Diving into a beauty greater than Art. Being absorbed. By her eyes that burn me.