Liberties

 —book of the there we’d have been—  We remained entranced by words positing   a world beyond their reach, that words don’t  go there said with words. They were speaking                for   the we that was no we they knew. It wasn’t music went where words were unable, it was  aroma consubstantial with crease and declivity,                the  beloved’s cleavage’s remit… There was a we   so whole it couldn’t be added to, the lover and the beloved’s extrapolative extent. An arche-  type, some had said, auguring more, a certain                polis bound up in it, sort-of more than certain, the we    or the would-be we we’d be. Doubletalk ob-   tained its lease. It felt good to be where words                did  not go