You who are here: I take you into my mouth along with all your tastes and textures that I chew, stir, mix, swallow into my throat where you become the warmth in chilly night and the comfort in days of the sun; I feel and savor your careful descent in my esophagus, caressing each of my organs along your way, until you reach and fill my stomach where I crush you and take from you all your juices and spirits which will flow, in the beating of my willing heart, through my veins to all the portions of my body until you swell on even to the boundaries of my universe.
You who are here: I breathe you, you, freeze or fragrance that penetrates my nostrils, who wafts into warmth once inside my body, and goes on and on, unhesitatingly, until your entirety, the solid air, disintegrates upon the forking and tightening of the passages that bring you to my lungs where you are broken into pieces to fill those small pods where you cease being air and is made a thousand more unsullied until you become essences and permeate my body, so that while you surrender yourself, my chest expands and rises.
You who are here: You seize me, you who were born by light which gave you figure and swathed you with color, feel, depth, luminosity, even shadow or shade, and you are here now, piercing the soft of my shiny eyes, expanding, shrinking my iris until you are held by my lenses that turn you upside down to prove your presence, and you become that which is known or understood, winding through very fine channels that all lead to my consciousness, and from there, you unfold in a manner that can never be questioned: you are the truth.
You, who are here: I am dazed listening to you, you who are all the sounds of my world, slowly being sucked by my hearing, tickling the lobes and niches of my ears, deeper and deeper you go until you are transformed into placid puffs that quickly and untiringly hammer the drum that yields to everything that is you, from murmurs to thundering rumbles, and, ah, you stir my whole system and it then bestows names to everything that you are: music, words, nature, machines, all things; you are even the silence.
You, who are here: You remind me without end of my presence and that of yours here and now, you who are more than a name or a prophesy, you whom my fingers fondle or my skin feels or the soles of my feet put weight on or my entire body senses, who stirs to excitement all the cells of all my systems, until all these understandings rush in a race though the labyrinthine paths under my skin, like surges of electricity, in an unimaginable quickness, to the core of my head which responds at light’s speed, so that what has been understood becomes fine sands along the seashores or sweat glazing anyone’s back or the silken dress of the one next to me, who has been, after all, you, whose chestnut-colored hair is being blown by the wind and touches my right cheek.