We are nineteen years old, spooning in a dorm room, entwined like commas in the last chapter of afternoon. Light bobs, weaves. Unspoken words pulse in the air, vines of smoke bind us like ampersands. It is October, it is Tuscaloosa and we are electric. We believe in and. Cake & eat, sooner & later, love & always. But or perches on the other shoulder, carries a spiny fork. Kiss her or don't. Speak now or forever hold a memory in your arms like trying to see the impression left on a bed by a body no longer there, sheets smoothing, daylight waning. Plurals & possessives jettison apostrophes, grasp for the singular.