The hunger returns relentlessly I desire again and again to merge into him shadow, lover, protector, persecutor while I habitually escape getting too close avoidance of all reflection of his grace I always yearn to hold his beautiful face against my innermost space. Touch is too frightening if he clamps my wings with thick fingers I may never fly again awaiting helplessly the end and yet holding up the mirror those are my hands. There are no wings all touch is empty