The crazy way that I’d love to look into your eyes right now and laugh and laugh and chortle and chuckle and snortle and snicker and titter and twitter, giggle and gobble, prattle and tattle, hooter and holler dancing around on both of my feet leaping up high into the air above your head to clap my hands and lick my chops and howl on and on like the poor little dog that cried Wolf! Wolf! Wolf! into the night and into the woods, into the dark and into your face, over the hill that stretches past the place where your feet stand planted in a layman’s garden of roses and thorns, bushes and bushels of nothing but love and hate and shame and fate that grow ever the thicker with every the step that you take, every move that you make, every breath that I fake, every shred of logic and sense and reason and feeling that you and I choose to forsake, and for the sake of what? has nothing at all to do with how I’ll probably still feel about you later.