I Imagine Stars At The Dragon'S Tail, Eyelids Ringing With Butter. I Want To Brush Palms As Lightly As Two Sparks. Take The Wand Of Your Waist In Two Plush Hands With The Pitiless Gesture Of A Sparrow We Part The Leaves In Breath, Arouse Trees In Envy. I Sense Colours More Vivid Than Your Tongue After Wine, Explosions To Cap The Wind. To Enter You In Argument - A Bough Creeking In Underbrush, Svelte Panthers Hiding. And Afterwards, Sheets Are Open Galleys, Oarsmen Ploughing Breakers Across Both Sea And Night.