He draws the air inside, a silent spark opens his chest. The world tilts, something begins. He lands in a country of melting skies, where colors bleed beyond their names. The taste of fruit and burning wine is sharp, electric, like a quiet climax. He walks among strangers, yet their faces unfold like books. Every glance, every sorrow, is written there, waiting to be read. I am the tongue that licks your thoughts, the mirror inside your veins. Through me you see their hidden pulse, I carve the silence into flame. He rests by an endless beach, sand whispering in ecstatic rhythm. The sea sways like a breathing body, each wave a shiver through his skin. Pleasure opens into fever, soft hands of the horizon wrap him in a velvet trance that tastes like eternity. Follow me into the forest of noise, where insects sing in broken tongues. Every shadow blooms alive, every whisper claws the air. I bend the edges of your sight, I stretch the seconds into storms. The jungle folds, the echoes crash, the world explodes in brilliance— then vanishes. Time splinters softly, his chest releases the weight. The visions unravel, dissolving into quiet air. He stares into the chaos, face to face, unafraid. Then with a tired smile, he whispers: “Perhaps tomorrow.”
