"And we walk back hand in hand, through the wintry streets to your flat, led by the full moon herself. We came to your door and you open it, letting us in. In the ideal world, I would kiss you there on your doorstep and you would kiss me back and we would consumate the night in a violent ardent passion. Unfortunately, we are chained here in this real world. As I close the door and take both your hands in mine, we can only stare into each other's eyes as we stand there hand in hand. We can only imagine the ideality for a moment until our thoughts are shattered by the heavy fetters of good Christian morals and the dark murky quadmire of the unknown. I kiss you sweetly on the forehead. And then a silent adieu as I watch you repair to your apartment and I to the couch. The fallen seraph of the abyss curses his loss , amidst the painful mourns of the victory dirge."

"What happens then?"
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