The heart bursting, emitting words becoming sparks of light of warmth of building lust, a tower of excitement and possibility and and and—
Loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me not, loves me etc. where does this end? Whenever you hear what you want to hear.
The dead get flowers regularly.

A candle. A strummed guitar. A look in the eyes.
A note passed secretly. A ring. A plastic figure from a 25 cent machine.
A sweeping dance! A gorgeous moon gazed at in the warm night!
A whisper.
