Twice a a year he was kissed.
Twice a year he was touched.
Embraced like grapes trampled in a vat.
Embraced like olives squeezed through a press.
Embraced like herbs steeped in boiling water in a bone white china chinze teacup.
He simmered in the afterglow like a purring cat.
He smoked like smoldering embers.
Then he saw the old universe for the first time again.
His red and blue aquifers ran up through him like glacial mountain streams, like smoking hot baths in Arkansas.
He walked standing still.
A flying lion… brown white and black.
Psychology, Jean Llanomirth