It's normal as usual, these continuous glances. Never last, never certain, never cumbersome, never too near. I'm counting days to seconds, choking the horizon at sunset. But the dark has surmounted light, and our coincidence has lost its bright. Don't worry love. I've got a book for the match, and a flicker for this flame. This breeze unremitting, shut the swinging door on farewells. The tumblers are empty, and the coasters are drained. Come fill my glass, feed my soul, thirty not thirtytwo. We'll see the world move mountains, and feel the sea with our dreams.