You leant forward as I was explaining 1729, mad geniuses and, and before I could expound any further you leant forward. I fell, the falling was and is definate. There are lines we drew, I said I won't and you said you will not. But the first snow of the winter that was falling was the metaphor. We drifted around the edges like snowflakes in glass and kitchen. And all around milling people my eyes sought you, the adjacent edge the country whose border I later was to erase to become whole by leaning over, leaning into. But you leant forward, the flakes melted into a crystal, mingled and couldn't be stopped. And if these is anyone to blame for all this. its you for leaning forward as I was cubing integers forcing me build a cube around me and you.

And you repeat that again by leaning forward.