There are things we do not say until on laminate floors half way to the sternest dawn. I never see my knuckles white with the lights off but your teeth catch space and time. I stutter with surprise and my voice is deep when in confirmation. Wrongs are never really righted but you find the solace I pride myself on curbing like one-way routes. These synapses fizzle under the drowning sickness. Our love never matches up.