The words don't exist for how I feel. This is not a good thing for a poet. Can I say I want to hijack a hot air balloon with you and host a pound cake eating contest on it? Can I say I want to ride horses with you in circles around the mouths of active volcanoes? Can I say I want to be seagulls with you chasing the light towards the prows of wooden ships? Can I say I want to sail across the Aegean with you and recreate the Odyssey even if we have to imagine the monsters and the songs of sirens? I wouldn't let you win the pound cake eating contest, but if you were a siren, you would be by far the most tempting reason to drown I've ever had.