If the night would end. If the night would never end. If we could sit endlessly facing each other. If we ceased facing endlessly. If we faced, ceasing endlessly. If we ceasing endlessly faced. If the night ends. If never ended the night. If ceasing ended the night. If sitting our ceasing the night ended. If ceasing to sit the night appeared raw and black, maw and swallowing. If ceasing our sit swallowed into night, chewed and quivering. If endlessly maw, chewing sat, facing and swallowing the starlight. If pulling down if rising up. If quivering facing our ceasing ended. If maw talked, if quivering warbled a song to our facing. If warbling the ceasing sang to our night. If sun bitten, if moon raked and quivering bleeding, if ceased endless our chewed minds and derelict visions uplifted. If our quaking bodies turned to chewing endless fortune’s strands. If uplifted the star threads pulled us, limbs into void, facing our ceasing notions, chewing our endless notions, quivering our faces, threading our eye’s beads on wires of identity. If hands abandoned the beads. If night abandoned faces. If ceasing abandoned night. If we ourselves torn and tearing, only eyes strung, only arms flailing, only legs quivering upwards, only holy ghastly constellations chewing in the maw of light.