To take your tongue as the beginning of all things. To learn from your will. Of all your verbs of the secret. With its mysterious keys. With their shadow minds. With her suckled mouth. With your body mouth. And everything turns in the shoot. Your eyes with their scissor lids. With its gloomy weather. In the invisibility of time. In his black soul. In her awake belly. In the absence of stone.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.