From me to you,
I want to be your sun
your palm in palm of a handshake
your lightning strike,-an electric shock,
full of surprise;transposed and clear,
far away from earth;I want a degree in machinery
interpose this little chipbetween you and me, to
not turn feeble
cacoonedwith the dampest touch
-I want
pink smog of happiness,
orange through sunlight.