A perfect synapse to this ecology.
To this drone.
To this end game night.
When all tranquil hits at the same quantum.
This time piece of us is forever as we sit above skyline in the ether.
Clouds hold us like tombstones, in their clutch as earth.
I expose you to my inner bastion of thought and you accept. You agree to love.
The environments perfect for the crispness of night.
The crisp clarity of the night and shadow.
On this grave dug dirt, we set higher than any scraper of sky.
We are at the belly of the beast ready, to disembowel the tyrant.
We no longer are two but in sync and hold all power, beauty, and aesthetic measure.
The tide eats us into its stomach, where we protect fortune.
In the end it's that one person.
That one keepsake when we die.
Our last thought besides ourselves in our heart and mind.
Our final passion.
Now tell me that’s not dying together.