Worn pages and steel are my only permanents; you scowl at the vowels while I prepare consonants. The white of the background, the black of the letter; no dichotomy will ever get any better. Why don't we use what we have and fuse our two halves in such a fashion that could make the muses master math?
As we argue in reverse and love till it hurts if we do it right we can see a virgin give birth to new vistas of thinking without even blinking, eyes closed in eternal meditation, springing up flora and fauna without any drama from the semen of dreaming and the fertile crescent of meaning. Bleeding away the greed of the day leaving naught but the gold of the soul ever fleeting and the beasts at bay. Come what may, I'm proud to say we will restore the uncarved block one day. Black, blue, or gray, we're not here to stay, I advise you; use the grains in the wisest way. Whether it's random chance or planned events, life occurs regardless of what you think is meant. If the road to hell is paved with good intent, then there's no more deficits, they ended with the definites, so now we pay pain in exchange for future benefits. Even as the slightest touch at times proves too much, we ride on the waves of oxytocin and love. My armor falls away as we greet the brand new day, leaving me before you naked, unashamed wondering if I am indeed enough.
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