My guts

You whose rumbling reminds me of my hunger for love.

She is the source of manifold meaning

A moment's meaning, my best sense of her

Which at some point became love

My best approximation of what I can see

Of her and thus of me

For I and her are but the same

We try and try to love the game

But hurting ourselves again and again

We find that we become alien to ourselves

And so she is her and I am me