You sit languidly, the other side of the room. You’re locked in circumstance. 
Your argument last night was great. You like to dwell publicly on crispnesses in whispers in the air. Not only that, you may already be a criminal laureate. 

You have the single most meticulous details for me. You chill the sorbet and warm the surf insidiously. Your sleep is like a language recognized by flowers at evolutionary distances. 

Mercury is wow! Mars.