So how soft is it, I think as I drink at the bar and watch her in the mirror, a mirage I dare not look at directly or go blind. I live in the midst of myth like this, recalling warnings I heard as a kid about wanting too much of the wrong things, and how I might end up bad -- never able to understand then or now how it might be possible to ache more or to want less, and now much more of a curse I might get if I crossed over the imaginary line between need and want into know. So how soft are those lips and how sweet would they taste if kissed? Will I spend enternity in hell if I insist on a kiss since I already know a kiss is not the bliss I seek, but only the eye in the lock -- as if wanting the way I do is as much a sing as doing. Why should I deny it if I am already doomed to burn, and how much worse will that fire be than the fire raging already inside me?