My sword is to the ground. My feet, bound, tied with ribbon and restricted by the colors satin purples and yellows and silvers, bow knotted on my steps. I am defeated by mountain and land. Here I lay. With the leaves, blanket my sympathy and the soulful ring I expel on all things unholy. My song is short and fair flavored. My spine is jelly to touch and toast. This is body to the earth and spinning down into the motherly blood of mud. My skin is covered in richness. My heart thinks this is all so glamorous. Here I am, like stone, falling further in lust for the ambrosial teddy bear. To touch the spores of mushrooms that could send me anywhere. This is an island of philosophy. I’m learning from the trees. The bees have taught me power. I’m ready to cook the late hours and drink up. Joined by my own true covet. I hate that I waited to be sleeping here, mixed so rightly with spirit and pleasure. I have what I wanted and needed. I have sweet smelling air to ecstasy fires. I have everything I could possibly desire. In this place, a golden class of the finest crystal moon, dining and smoking the finest blossoms and the strongest roots of bloom.

'You’re not free enough for me.'
'And you’re too free for me.'
'This is where we’re supposed to be.'

Wait for the second June.