And, There We Are Like Betel Leaves

With eastern emerald splashes and radiant half-batting lashes she whispered, her innermost needs like vines bent her ankles and knees. And much like them, tasty betel leaves she folded in and around me, tucked me into her opium mouth, tucked me inside a secret sacred part of—herself. 'Our eternity has no windows - she said: whatever direction you take yourself, be sure your heart has partaken and dined and your soul is well fed'. And placing an emerald leaf around my head she embalmed me with a silken thread: 'our eternity has no windows - she said: But we, too, are butterflies jointly cocooned - in a web.'