I feel more compact than a toy whistle wrapped in toilet paper on
the end of a cane pole when I'm in your Egyptian tunnel. I reckon
(or guess) that's what eternal love is temporarily all about.
You can't eat spaghetti without a tongue.

O woe are we. May the hairy mayonnaise of strangers spice up our
fur-burgers. We were a couple in love, a couple of saints. Our
saintly ways of helping those more unfortunate than nobody
else on God's Earthen plane made us stronger (that and
not bathing). The day had come to make a break
from those who hated us (our creditors). I gathered
up an armload of reeking clothes and hit the road
to meet my destiny (and a laundromat).