In the fathermost ends of my nerves, I felt the most electrifying current of heat, sparks and passions. Churning until, with no signs of forthcoming, it pulses through my veins like a runaway freight train. Ecstasy rivettes throughout my temple of misted floral skin and clouds the brain that floats atop the stormy sea of endorphins. Bliss is the description of ecstasy or seventh heaven. Love is the inception of ecstasy which cannot be faked but merely manipulated. Honest women make old maids, but I'd rather be a lonely old maid than subsided with contentment. My love will never be vapid or mundane. I would perish if my love were to be represented by the atrocious descriptions of anything less than freehanded. Whoever is to experience my love will be sure to weep in confusion. My lover will know not I had been possible. If I were not your moon, your gravity, your reason, than I am nothing more than the jester for your royal occassion. Give me someone to overwhelm in my love and to feed with my essence and I will give them the most cherished memories, the most tender of kisses and the sweetest laughs. For everytime I'd write, rather it be a shopping list, reminder, or a simple signature, it will always be a love letter to you. You would always be on my mind and I'd always think of you with Love.
Buenos Niches my little chickens, till I feed you another day.
