Writing to you is my triumph over existence, and even if one day everything falls still and mute this poem never will, its fires constantly burning shed all silent veils from over the face of existence, grafting you into the root and core of all that is. Thus, this whole efflorescence of life acts like an osmotic membrane carrying forth your substance and essence, celebrating and crowning your effulgence and light. Even death and nothingness like black flowers blossom on your lips of infinite light. In you, beloved, everything is overcome, overpowered, surrendered with nothing a more than touch of your fingertips, a whiff from your skin and hair. In you, beloved, ah…now let this poem fall still and like a speechless full moon conclude itself in the fullness of your womb.