And it descends culminated. Of the new day that is born after the long night of prayer and insomnia. He will come down bringing the fine fruit to the arid land. Fruit in love with the air found under the heights. You will think of your restless bed; There he waits for him on a blanket covered in sand, barely filtering the stinging heat that the day brought. He will rediscover the sins with the scrambled lies that he separated from just before his departure. With shame and modesty he will look at them before stepping on them with the almost melted sandals. Smell. Damn smell of meat corrupted by bad words!
Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.