This magnormus patronage of microescapades, whoregasms, and feromonial rituals is something only an interstellar enigmatic woman could recall. The ship has sailed over a sea of stars that reach the dream plane and has somehow returned for a masterdebated reunion. My approach to this dilemma is not only in the favor of curiosity and chance, but for the sake of lust and romantic endeavors. As an interstelllar enigmatic woman..-izer.. my goal is beyond Venus; underneath the venomous bitchiocrities; at the bottom of an ice cream carton. It is beyond the vain we share mirror-side and closer to the bed-side. "A little to the left and nearer". I can hear the cries and gasps beheld in the sweet pinks and reds of her mouth tangling between words I haven't heard in a trembling pup's whine. Moments bound through time and space, traveling in semi-circular rotations and drifting farther from Jupiter's Eye can see. Resistance. Fowl. Only these inevitabilities will present themselves in divinity and despair; pandemonium and depredation; miraculous and devout. All good things come to an end. But do they ever work as pinwheels do? Forward and reverse again - a change in the wind current fills the sails of the once abandoned ship. Commandeered by lesbiamnities, thrustrations, and spreadurlegism. Forward...Forward...Starboard and Starstruck.