You fall in her presence, like deference, to a humble car salesman, trading, degrees of truth, and gravitas.  You follow, their subtle mannerisms, apprehending intuition, intoning with accuracy, on occasions, in a voice, a bit beyond whisper, and bumbling other notes, too many words, abutting nerves.   I hope I have not offended you?  What do you seek, this afternoon, the sun on display?   My cold face is tolerable, though my fingers, are set, to freeze.   What do you imagine, lies, beneath, this shadowy, sea, amid the bed, of this billowy meadow, atop this craven crust?  If we anticipate, ambiguity, perhaps this figure-skating, may be maintained.  I should not tire, of careful conversation.   We must not attempt to re-live, experience.  I have not entered deeply into the travails, of others.   I question whether they are, inevitable.  I am not undone by lunacy, but rather enraged by mild betrayal, and those who, linger, unaware -- this is my moment, to pass.