Your deep seated treasure trove of words on love layeth at the throne and is sealed in a crystal case, meant to be broken in case there is an a famish in the kingdoms, an unquenching, an unending, an unfading hunger for love. The haybarn of mild prosperity. It transitions with frequencies ranging from the cosmic dimesions of the galaxies to the unforgiving, mauve depths of the ocean. It resonates with my ambivalent soul, at an existential level as thy velveteen buds are of my photvoltaic stem.