Locked in my shell of bone and blood an ocean says diminished things; the echoes of the lover's head, her million mouths and green tongues. Clasping its coloured horn, you sail inward along the fathomless desired horizon of the shell: are voices then the breadth of seas? Dumb in the prison of distance, that which stained this mockery in her gulf stamps to destroy us: the white feet of the dragon, passion herself.