"I don't--" it remained unsaid. That tangle of limbs slackened -- surrendered to the luxuries they'd been afforded. His eyes were heavy -- bedroom deep in overindulgence, and despite the silence his lips were still moving -- whispering to no-one in particular.
His fingers twitched under the blankets, weaving silkspun words amidst dreams that flickered in and out -- candle-brief, burnt-out celluloid.
"In winnows waged a war's begun," but the rest drowned with the beast