You have a face like a puma, lost in this wetland of warm sexual attraction and humming hiss of tea on the stove, the slow drip of a chrome faucet, a red ribbon around your neck, a smoky marijuana cloud, white pills on your tongue, melting blankets and ankle socks, stalking bodies, smooth skin and hieroglyphics mark the sweet, untouched territory, a dark silhouette with pink centers, your badly bruised and scratched prize, how thousands of miles away a Shaman dances naked and blood will cry out from the ground.