I did. I handed you the rope, while you chewed the air with it. I loved, indeed I loved, drying my tears, licking my wounds. Chasing tails, sharing stares beneath thunder and moons. Choking on the bones of the dead. Was there ever enough envy? The summer, back, the winter, black with snow to disguise the flowers that were left behind in the guided footprints. A ghost led us - to a spot, with our tongues flailing with desire. Your head was hung in the howling wind. My palms were open to catch your rain. Death is as loose as paws shaking the hand of punishment, - an agreement to foresee no treats, no seats in the streets where we beg for the wind to let us become the dust in our eyes.