I usually negotiate after a bonfire of love, & like glowing sparks, not a note of cynicism vis à vis whom I adopt. 
It’s better after I begin to wake I’ve landed. A roundhouse in green leaves is great. I merge at the top, half asleep.. 
Moreover, we’ve landed. A roundhouse in the sun.. the left knee just there then took a variant position in a sequence of arm scratches — 

an honest hermaphroditic itch gerrymandered in ambiguity until it goes away, released at last into newly impartial states, witless after a while, undead.