I know that intentionally, you made me forget my grammar by coming with the recipe for only one medication, — Love! And the problem with the warning scheme was simple... — both, the cure and adverse reactions, offered wings, to travel with the air of fantasy, enough to find some beautiful visions and to make me reborn in your whispers, when you carry me on your mind, as if I'd be a little girl in the poetry's drugstore, not the kind of cool town woman who takes out your breath, doing nice work if you can get it, I'm jazzing in your blood.