My well balanced maelstrom of dandelion petals and acid rain. Kiss me as you are. I want to be thrown back and forth in the monsoon of you. Come apart at your touch. In your arms I become a forest fire. And I can’t be put out.
Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can’t tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal