I cherish the mornings that I wake with a smile, drowning in your muscles, remembering the moonlit night; we ascend into heavenly depravity. You taste my madness, I swallow your sea. Chaos and absolute sense—ouroboros. We float into the metaphysical and the interstitial spaces of exhalation. You peer into my nooks, crevasses, and folds. Let me imprint those moments, those mornings, so as to never be mourning. Time is measured by your presence, and the cacophony from your absence. Your void is my suffering. A cycle of lull to apogee. I shall worship those moments, the memories, in perpetuity.
—Anagogē Nepenthē