Is it hot in here

Is it coming into bloom? Are the noises of desire purring in the stream through the woods, are there more stars than billions as you lay on your back staring through clear skies to the wingtip lights that distract for the time, being movement. The mushroom thrives in snug and dark and damp and in the company of certain spirits of the trees, a rotation of some degree on the fractal wheel of possibility a scaled down version in another dimension, chemical composition reacts with molecules inside our skulls, and the one last thing that’s done before