Xanadu
 

When she loathes me, I know it. Jabs and slurs: her  rapturous melodies. Her words are harsh and unyielding,  but they burn in front of me in full view. Even so, she  fences with a ghost assailant, cutting right through me  but never landing. Still, she slices away, leaving nothing  to the imagination. She is unrelenting, tells me I am  evil and quiet, calculating and uncommunicative, there  but not. At least, she says, you know my pain. At least,  she says, I share it with y