The prophecies have an odd habit
To lurk inbetween scribblings  and  then mingle
the good wishes into a mashed goofy mind ala moi

God - how I wanted to meet you. You, the noble scholar
An oriental dreamer. Son of a man who made comics
Look nice. Now - I have anticipated a longing long
Lettre.

Or a notion you have read his words. Yet. It's not about realising; This wilderness.
The paper relief is not equal to a ravishing beauty..your wisdom, your passionate thunderstorms within your mind and a non dual complecancy to : your eternal gazes ...
I would be honoured to experience this wondrous mildness
Your arms holding me tight and loosely addictive.

Oh - to melt within your yang.

Yin