All that I have are short limbs, a shrill voice and an aching for your embrace. How am I to fashion myself to hear all that you’ve been trying to tell me, in all this while? You speak to me in metaphors, symbols and signs. It’s rare for you to spell it out, without ambiguity. You favour a multiplicity of meanings, in all that you say to me. How am I then going to be able to hold you down, to a promise, when you have a thousand loop holes, to slip through my grasp? So, even I must grow clever now, and ask of you only this – just move yourself close enough, for me to hold you, and then you may speak with me, all you want, to your heart’s content!