I want to hold you in the cleft of my heart, in the fold of my arms, in the stroke of my tongue, in the purse of my lips, - but apparently such poetry is declined and childlike games are all she

  Sort of stumbled over you (Rachael) while you were lying there in the recovery position, no, really I was not looking for fellow epileptic brothers or sisters and your name flashed up with the word

  all you want to be to me is a jerking, shaking, shattering illusion in a death plane with unknown corners and ledges and starts and stops and hazardous drops. Why do you love me so epilepsy?