Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
Today I stayed in bed and tried to sing along with Bob Dylan. Just about every phrase he sings has some minor inflection to it that I never notice when trying to imitate him. The sense always becomes less direct.
But still. No.
There is one scene where one is sold.
See, I thought Les Parapluies de Cherbourg would have, like, people dancing. With umbrellas. But no.
'Oh yes, the sentence,' Creeley once told the critic Burton Hatlen, 'that's what we call it when we put someone in jail.'
'You don't even live once.'
I am suspicious of anyone (including myself) who is proud of listening to a record because of its genre.
The heart will be the last to return, after eyes to see with.
Maybe it turned into a 'more' somehow.