[...] Come on old man, walk across the room. I’m waiting for you. Kiss me. Get it over with. It’s not going to be pleasant and it’s about time we found that out. Come here and take hold of me with your old hands and your old mouth. Reach out of your obscene godforsaken darkness into my plush obscene depths and grope your way along – I’m not going anywhere. For a few moments I’ll stay perfectly still. You have sat on the wall above the lakes looking at me and we have walked up the bridleway and down the bridleway and we have stood side by side at the gate and looked across the fields and when it rained we got in close to the trees there and you come by here every afternoon as if I had nothing else in the world to do and you see nothing wrong with that. And now you must kiss me so that your error is unveiled and you encounter how far you are exactly from being able to sweep me right off my feet and I must remain absolutely still in order to feel you grasp and falter, rasp and dodder – because, after all, it’s not as if you are not a captivating man, you are a very captivating man indeed, and I must forthwith feel the failure of your kiss upon my lips, stuttering unmistakably throughout me, and you must and will feel it too. It will be a most terrible kiss, sluggish and lathery, aphotic and unsteady, forgettable – it will die within moments. A cold submerged thing, briefly spurtive, barely supported. Poor flesh, sad bone. And then it will all be over. Walk across the room now old man and kiss me – let’s put an end to this.