Is your heart singing words to mine as well?

Blood flows as a sliced-open hose
from my wishes and their dreams
to the gray river and its tributary streams.

Darkness has contrast on its mind
when it's a few minutes before dawn
and is that moment available 
any given night?

Clouds consider us beneath them
mortal, frail, and easily shocked
by their static disequilibria 
and that's that in a strike. 

Your bookshelves said it 
better than my face;
we read each other
sat down
lost each race.

That's the total victory:
to see the game for what it is,
a nubile source of scutty fizz.

The same as what's between us;
a crust and its molten iron
and pepperonis
too greasy to pick off
and too valuable to discard.

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