The flame begins to burn In the palace of imagination, surrounded by Thousands of books, millions of words, As you each create your own, unseen by the other, But with the secret hope to one day gain entry Into each other's self-expression. A simple scent of spiced apple, a heavenly beauty the great geniuses of the centuries could only hope to reimagine, Spilling out over the confines of convention. Twine and paper, wrapped delights, consumed In paroxysms of pleasure That feed Creative inspiration. A gift to her, a gift to each other, The greatest hunger: to learn what happens next.