She has the kiss of a hundred sirens, deep and heady, drinking me in, I feel so warm inside, and yet I manage to climb out of the well, escape into the cold. Was it always so cold out here, the frost has crept from my toes, to my legs and soon my tongue, will be like thith, with the pith of a hundred oranges, holding it inside my frozen mouth. Let her be, the queen of heat. She only suckles those, who live.