The purple sky fades into a liquid dream and when I see the product of his sweet imagination, I can almost feel the silk of steel against my skin and geometry like honey licked clean off my naked thoughts. I see her laughing kindly in the background, waiting for a sublte smile of recognition. But enough about me... what about you? Tell me what color the sky pretends to be when you beg your eyes to close at night. And if there are songs that make you cry, would you let me pretend to be the radio? Love is always interrupting art, or is it the other way around? ~ Ty