The wind blowing on my face, a million tastes of water on my mouth. The warmth surrounding my body, the wind playing tricks on my hands. Heaven and earth combined in a single unit of sound: butterflies swimming against brakish waters and fishes crossing the edge of the sky, filling the universe with a spawn of snails and saints. Holy gracious, I am sorry for getting a hendle of that, for being done in, for being done. I would die until the crack of dawn in the speed of sound, in the speed of ligh, yes. They do reflet the flickering ligh on my eyes, green, yellow and red, yes. The traffic jam is nothing compared to the sweetness of being so near you, so close to you in a single unit of soul, in a single star of universe. Yes, they do reflect the blinking flame of disguise and disgust and diswrought and everything that parishes and stay, a constant memory hammening and tonging my mind, being not able to be able, to be, to live and to die. Wonderful experience, my wont, being near you and forgetting that I have missions and tasks to accomplish, but this is a fait accompli: I have to hand it to you, I've fallen, too quickly, to pigheadedly, too green. I cannot help it, you are my mind, by body and soul. You belong in the wind, in the warmth and in the sun... in the wetness of the deers, in the claws of the falcons and in the eyes of the tiger. Lamb, little lamb, who has made thee? Who has made thou my sorrow and guilt. No guilt this time, no chains and tears, just the freedom of the wind against my face and the weight of you body against mine.