A blast abruptly roars from faces and things and everything on which my eyes stumble upon. As I devour your scent, my lips murmur your name. A name, like a mountain that stands spotlessly tall. A surge of colors as I drink, flare up and flow, each bleeding into another, like a drug in an inviting glow. Does one need any other, I ask? When they’ve consumed the loftiest intoxication named ‘Shambho’? -LA