Nerves are roots to explore soul, Skin is a tool for a ghost to sole, Love is where reasons disappear, Air is a substance to whisper 'dear'.
Circuits are shortened, things are sorted at least for twisted two pairs of hands: whatever wanted is close and note that a seaside is nothing but an edge of land.
Postponed travels, wells, water, a maze reside in silence, not yet in peace. An electric fence binds a friendly face with its mortal base so it looks as is.