This could be a love poem if language allowed it, if those who love and write could get out of their ghastly obsession with exegesis; but the world, which sounds its murmur bursting of meanings, goes about spouting slogans, and the conscious contradiction of being and standing before the world is redeemed with theatricality, with the art of living above the abyss, with recovering that simple language in our attempt to kiss each other.

Elizabeth Duval offers us this perception, one that arises at the very moment of being aware of loving, with all its machinery and all its contradictions, because irreverence is also part of the bodies that recognise each other, become fragile in each other, meet and begin to muse the delicate line of attraction/retreat in the face of the abyss. Those who have experienced it know.