I look good in a suit. I am addicted to bees. I puncture easily. I am not God. I am not moose. I am something in between. I am furless and sad. I chuckle at rain. I dream of jaguars (as they dream of me). I assume the guise of foxgloves so you will notice me. I love the nakedness of thunderclouds, of skin on skin, soul on soul. I wish to soar between spires in a deep wet forest. I shiver in the presence of truth. I do the craziest things to postpone fear. I write stories on blades of grass. Sometimes I am as cruel as the root that trips the child. Sometimes I squabble with God. I walk on tiptoe through puddles of tears. Did I say I look good in a suit? I am part nostril, part water, part phlegm. God drew my face with chalk made from stars. I am soft flesh housing hot spirit. I see the world suffering and know I am not alone. Kiss me while I am water for tomorrow I will be mist.