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.