I hate that I run around in unspent dreams, and the flourescent light in supermarkets makes me feel sick. Sometimes I want to surround myself in green and look for you inside of me. I want to lay you on the summer grass and prance around you, spinning. I want to kiss your wounds and sing away your pain. To listen to the ocean inside your chest. To feel you rattle when you laugh. To intertwine like celtic knots, to fade into each other. I trust you with all of me, until the last star dies. It’s a sensual and intricate contract, ours.