There Is No Fire in Your Glass Eye

I am a monster and so is Highland Avenue. I think of the Rubik's cube or perhaps just numbers written across a face. A face in black pen. She sings along to songs that I love and know but it doesn't matter which songs because no one else besides us knows what they are. The words are like wet clouds after a bottle of wine and we shake hands and don't say anything. If I said something like "coma" or "Jeffrey Lee Pierce." If I said something at all. If I said, "If I." If, Huey Hog. If I told you to look at the clouds, oh. If I drank your bottle of wine while you were looking wet and speechless. If I kicked your heels to Highland Avenue. If you had any idea that there were numbers written across your face in black pen, man, that would be wild.