Thinking of this and that as of late, most of which is nonsensical (I.M.H.O.), and how we sometimes refuse to acknowledge the dangly bits on the sordid underside of each of us which, in that parallax of Love, tend to drive the passion and the Want that is totally reminiscent of the very first time she came to you, her clothes wet from the surprise summer downpour when the rain is warm and the air sultry, and the two of you encircle each other and you kiss True Love’s Kiss along the Slipstream of Time.