In a field of corn, she divides and comes back together again. In the time it takes to figure out the future, the past has already caught up with the present, much to my giddy delight. Crawling around on all fours as the sun lurks above, when she kisses the ground to be at one with nature, the stalks of corn whisper their secrets, and each and every one of them is indeed a miracle. My fingers, they tingle and pinch as she floats several inches in the air. My lips, they tremble at the prospect of what I’ll say as she comes ever closer and our paths, at last, threaten to align. There are magpies and butterflies and images of memories of distant cousins playing in gardens belonging to great-grandparents in St Albans. Those cousins, they move in circles around greenhouses while singing their favourite songs, but as much as I find them alluring, their words don’t impress me, and I make my way to some other place. Through the maze of memory and time, we come close to interacting now and again, but no matter how hard I try finding my girl, she always seems to be one step ahead. There’s a pier sometimes. It invades my dreams and pulls me in even though I know the figure that’s waiting for me at the end of it isn’t there. From those shifting sands to the field of golden corn, the one that would be my lover is lighter than the soil she holds in her open hands. She’s sunshine and moonlight mixed together in a bowel like eggs and milk and flour and copious amounts of honey. Breathing her in, I taste the pastry on my lips and smile as she throws the soil up into the air before clapping her dirty hands so excitedly. On her breath, there are all kinds of strange sensations, and when she’s in my arms, my heart beats so rapidly like it’s ready to burst. When her body is next to mine, I bite the inside of my mouth and tweak her nipple and when she shudders the heavens ignite and everything is everything, and with my kisses on the nape of her neck, not even the prospect of death can take her away from me.