Maybe if we ran off to our anonymous hotel, our gilded cage, no words, nohow. Not even a semi-literate Beckett nonsense, but no words. Animals. I taste you. I know everything I want to know. I know you by your cries and stutters, how we each go weak and go strong around one another without needing to map it out before we go. We could live in each other like that for two days. Inhabit you, inhabit me, eating room service just enough to consume each other again.