instead of whatever it was that i was supposed to be doing and after i said into his stupid ears that this thing that never was -- isn't -- i smoke-it-out with val and christophe. they let me talk about you. and love. and we laugh intense longing. because we're moved by the sense. oh, god, eff. and. slurr. light it up, light it up, flame on. and on the return my dimple hurts and remembers you in the heart of this heart of the way our spoons drifted sleepy headed so many nights into you being the thing that always made my smile wry and easy. just like sunday mornin.