Work Text:
The third attempt at switching bodies didn’t work, either.
Aziraphale sighed. “We’re too end-stopped.”
“Huh?”
“Poetry, my dear. When the meaning of a line is self-contained, it’s end-stopped; when the meaning runs into the next line, it’s enjambed. We need to enjamb.”
“Sounds like the M1. Which is NOT my fault.”
Aziraphale ignored that. “Let’s try again.”
“Wait. What about rhyme?”
“Rhyme?”
“1930. You accused me of inventing free verse, then went on about form and meaning and rhyme transforming meaning.”
Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Of course! It’s the transformation we need.”
Crowley grinned. “Right. Forget traffic jams. We rhyme.”