we can watch the waiter clean the dripping puddle of spilled chocolate milk and see how he looks at me disapproving my clumsy hands kinda wishing I never stepped foot in the restaurant and later we should try swimming but not in a pool not in a pond but a great lake (with jellyfish that don't sting) and the ripples will flatten out mimicking the puddle of chocolate milk against the white towel and deep into the night we can imagine the number of glowing bulbs and blades of grass never ending just like the moment just like the day just like the way your hand moves over my arm gliding smooth smooth and flowing glassy without interruption highlighting the way a group of words can manage to escape punctuation leaving behind the choppy tension only dancing on and on to a place that can't be ended with a simple spot of ink directly below the last letter**.