I lay my tired bones down at the narrow gate to let them be conquered by this cavalcade of undeserved grace. Here's the white flag, here's the pen; here's my empty, ink-stained hands and all the places my mind has been. All over again. No more solo daydreams down tenuous, rickety streets; just lover and beloved in the chasm where two thirsts meet. What a sweet ache is this growing pain, what an earth-shattering noun that forms the sound of your name, what a glorious sight it will be when rose is entangled with flame.