Lui: I’m just asking, just asking. I’m just asking if you’ve not yet tired of staring, of the tiring stare, the stare across the sea. Just asking.
Your hair, your fair hair, Elle, your long fair hair, so new. So old. Your eye: blue. Touch me, touch me, touch me not before the colored leaves bark up the trees.
Elle: You do, you do, you do not own me, you think you think me and you own me when you think me but you don’t own me. I don’t loathe you.
Hold me, you, because I like it, long-dong silver, slacking slob. No more wearing this skirt below the knee. Pull it up, one thread at a time, please, pull it up, use a knife, come through for me, but look at me.
There’s no new wave, Lui, there’s only the sea. Look o’er here, look o’er there, das Meer. Love: lives.