If you open the peculiar bottle that time hid inside your hand’s ability to open anything at all… you will suddenly understand what was implied by our fertile stories of angels and djinns.

The core of any flower is not with the flower itself — but within the sacred pulses of the sky’s ancient heart. The mind of the bee lies not in her body or with the Queen — but in the fundamental fabric of invisible relations established long before the world was born.

Nonetheless, should you seek and gain the Queen’s council, then you and I shall come together, naked in purity, meeting once more in the moment before all dreams find their source.

And you will find me ready and awake, my skin like stardust, my eyes like conflagrations, burning with the secret purpose of the snowflake’s structure, the solar rotations, the ancient language written only in the fluid forms of roiling clouds that bring the storm.