Our energy will intensify, multiply, die in the flame of our bed as a passionate scorpion slips into a blissful rest in the sun's house and prepares for long winter nights spent in each others warming embrace. Falling confetti of red-orange-brown-yellow-once-upon-a-life falls to asphalt death and we run through it, breaking and cracking the fragile veins of those things that supply us with oxygen in the warmer lives. Dwelling upon birth-death-rebirth-redeath-cycle-in-cycle-out and the mortality that we hold and break everyday just by breathing in the sweet smell of rot will remain a mystery for the both of us. Talk to me beyond the language of humans and instead seduce me with the Original Language, the one pre-human, pre-animal, pre-life. The language that is nature, violent, passionate, loving, hating and everything else. The Ram will lack patience for the Fish and Scorpion and they are off again on a tantalizing dance of fear and falling. Journey into the unknown with me and hold me up as I slip into the aquamarine waters of my dreams and wake me up only when the purple clouds float over a bloody horizon, bringing news of either life or death that is welcome.