Overwhelmed by the poetry of his prose, I try to catch my breathe. Unexpected surprises lurking within the depths, and the depth, of his words. I need to be surrounded by peace to take this in. Too many voices here.

My skin feels hot like when tears spring to my eyes unbidden following sudden and unexpected pain. Or like the flush of arousal. But this is neither of those, and yet it is both.

Not really ready to speak of this, my words seem too small, not right, inadequate. I wish only to crawl beneath flannel sheets with his words in my head. Attempts to decipher every message hidden there will undoubtedly preclude any sleep. Instead I will allow his words to flow through me again and again. Until I am immersed in them, lost in them like the warmth of southern ocean currents. Perhaps this immersion will masquerade as complete understanding. Or maybe the currents will sweep me out to sea.

Either way - I am lost.