The clock is out of sight, I'm listening for the toll. I don't want this to end. I don't want you to be wandering the city with glass in your hand. I'm here, real. Your breath on my neck, with my mouth irresponsible and unaware of it's actions. I'm detached. My carriage awaits, he has 5 stars, not a constellation. I'm sorry. Fuck. Call me, I have no slippers to leave behind.