Points never made

Tonight tastes like colourful abstractions that haven't a seen the light of roiling smoke unhinged from the clouds weeping across the oceans in an effort to kiss the mitigating waves crusted with mercury drops shaped like tears collected in the core of an alien oyster dropped in the midst of an argument effulgent with the translucence of quartz coloured ectoplasm leaking out of a withering soul that may or may not be someone asleep under the rains.