One thing is clear: I want to know you - yes, you. You reading this right now: I want to paddle you up the river, belay your highest climb, top your bottom and be the ENTP to your inner ISFJ. I'm the swinging door in your open relationship, or the tip of the iceberg - there, starboard - as your ship of longing veers off-course.
Alchemic in my potion-making, I'll catch you off-guard and then challenge you to a fencing duel, your ankles bound and throwing stars hidden in my waistband. But I'll let you win anyway because I know you're good at tending to my inevitable wounds.
We'll go somewhere - anywhere - I'll meet you there. If I show up, I'll explain Shinogi-Zukuri katana construction under the Tokugawa shogunate, introduce you to underground croissant bakers sweaty in their sous-sol and reveal to you the small crack in the basement wall where they conceal their hip flasks of Calvados. We'll drink mint tea with the blue men of the Sahara, because there's nothing like feeling blue in Timbuktu.
Flies in amber.