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.
Roman Ryan 