Tonight my heart has dined on a most brackish wine. I might cry out were it not for the world and all its ears. My sated tongue quivers in callous delight. Tips of now cleptic fingers burn with a corrosive insanity. An infantile urge embeds between my own palpable desire and the now necessary friendship of myself with another liquid spell. Sweet honeydew so holy in the mind spills and dribbles from between my lips as vision crashes to the floor and night is visited by another for eternity.