An Artist’s twist of the wrist – And, finally, her eyes are starting at dancing all over again –
And all over his beating, hair-addled chest.
 
Catching contagious, adolescently pressed breaths – together, one after another.
 
Fret not, dearly insistent baby girl of the wide world
For the fall is far greater than the horrendously stressed rise back.
 
To this thing attempting to call itself singular Sense
Again.
 
Life on fire. Twice the fight – Half as nice. Hand me a light, please.