A tree that is similar to that of he water-chinkapin.
That yoncopin is beautiful.
When evey he is is the room, I'm left breathless and still like the yoncompin without a breeze of air, to push along it's leaves to make them dance. The words will not come. No matter how much crut is remaining on that tree, she feels as bare naked as a girl tangled up inside a crambo of words with hidden meaning. She wonders to herself when the nullanulla like facade will soon come to an end so she can once again feel the heat from his breath in her ear. To run her fingers threw his hair when he holds her close. Until then it is only a matter of the space between a lovers first kiss form the one who captured her heart long ago.