Should I be grateful for your ears?
Should I borrow your ears, or should I make a down payment and take out a mortgage?
With my warm muzzle whispering in your ear, you feel light and airy, taking off in a Spitfire to fight and destroy the Hun.
We weep for you catching fire in the sky, burning bright as the Sun, as the beautiful Spitfire begins it's death dive to Earth.
Yet, as you scream to your death, you hear my voice in your ear, calm and measured, reassuring. You could be sitting beside a pond with Monet, picnicking, quietly whispering, high on fire, a lonely impuse of delight, my last breath whispering in your ear.