There was this softness to their able ability which tended to gather its very own sense of Steed. We feel them.. with their minds eye acting ultimately… elusive, actually, and their bruised fingers, legs, limbs, etc.
Unable to stop themselves: fromGASPING(!!) and “going again… .”
She whispers this thing to herself amidst
A RapturousAndAudibleAudience of UnIquElYPlAceDPeOplE:: it isn’t exACTly that they haven’t done the frowned UponGroundWorkbeFORE but, rather that THAT..
That they’ve been meaning to rest their life of layabout laurelsWithIN, which has never EVEN happened before NOW(..)
Her concentration, though, and it’s lyrically enhanced necessity to NEEDtoKnow. Precisely how(?!) this self-preparedAndPropelledThing WILL inevitably turnOut.
“For now, what we seem to seek to see is a momentary meandering AND UNofficially hectic manoeuvring of body and form —- all things clothed in blue… … that feeling of gatheringWarmth…
And All things About-to-be — “utterly reckoned UPon. Yet again.” As she perfectly fences herself in – these emotions were sort of meant to be BrOkeN, “weren’t they, though?!”
