Lolita

Lolita, light of my life — the gate, the lawn, the name. Dolores Haze in the margins, and desire learning my shame. “Nymphet”: my private term, my prison, my polished lie; a spell over schoolbook air, over the blue of the sky. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.” Not prayer — possession, a beautiful noise. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.” “My sin, my soul” — and the world recoils. Ramsdale to roadside rooms, the map kept folding in my hand; trunks, motels, her silences — I mistook them for command. She was not my angel, not my muse, not the shape of my dream; just a child I pursued through the lucid, predatory gleam. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.” Not prayer — possession, a beautiful noise. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.” “My sin, my soul” — and the world recoils. My sin, my soul. You only named what you could not control. Lolita… Dolores Haze. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.” Not prayer — possession, a beautiful noise. “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.” “My sin, my soul” — and the world recoils. Lolita… my sin, my soul… Dolores Haze.