In between the words, you show me what you really want. From the words you repeat every day, burned the diffuse orange glow on the track grey in the gloaming. It’s more than you and me now. You and I combine as product. In production. In silence, you justify the mistakes I make as a learning curve, the prerequisite to forward progress, never sure if each move is carefully calculated or hesitated out of the fear of what the motion may bring. And maybe, baby, it’s the word I need to just keep hearing over and over again, until it feels familiar, comfortable; until I can follow the track blind and effortlessly, with the acrid mixture of solid assurance and the ever-evaporating allure of foggy mystery.