The Eye Is Not Open When It

I Love You On The Surface Of Seas Red Like The Egg When It Is Green

It Is Living And Ceasing To Live That Are Imaginary Solutions. Existence Is Elsewhere.

Words Have Finished Flirting. Now They Are Making Love.

No One Who Has Lived Even For A Fleeting Moment For Something Other Than Life In Its Conventional Sense And Has Experienced The Exaltation That This Feeling Produces Can Then Renounce His New Freedom So Easily.

Who Am I? If This Once I Were To Rely On A Proverb, Then Perhaps Everything Would Amount To Knowing Whom I 'haunt.'