I am here with three valves,
one to take in,
the other to put out and of the third to distribute.
Yet another aspect where all sensations seems trivial.
When my fingers run through yours,
and my core beats,
and my drum thumps.
A word, your voice upon a memory once removed,
kept me intact.
Lately you are the one adding first to my stress,
then on my insanity which this mind never do stop.
Lastly, if you do give something you keep my senses
in a brink of wild goose chase.