you and I are writing different stuff at unpredictable intervals of time; the experiment looks like a temperamentalish naked poetry; on the other hand, in very deed,  hunts a humor's  sense that  dissects  our mood; it's life's pulse we trapped in its battle scars and broken hearts; it's our dark sky of winter's leisurely, crystallized by drones' foam; it's a wish degree pulverizing oneness, to affect today our atoms' thrill; it's a hug and kiss, sent and caught, (nervelessly), (for love shrills us both);