Have you eaten a triangle? Is it crunchy? Have you run your tongue up and down the color red and smiled from a place so deep inside it's outside? Do you serve a dove's coo as you do vichyssoise or perhaps as paté?
Have you heard the cloven hooves clacking on the learning curves of the road that Beethoven paves?
Do you feel the fear of heights from music that builds to the sky with heartbeat bricks of the dark and rhythmic planets widening their orbits around you?
Are you drawing your favorite songs with dots and arcs and circles and spheres, or do you prefer compositions that are defined like lines, corners, triangles, squares and cubes?
Do you smell in the cube and sphere the clove and cinnamon, both the same thing only different, perhaps more basil in the cube?
May I salt your Cs, pepper your Ps, roll your Rs, and taste your Ts? Can you reach for the H?
(Just saying H makes me tired; it's such a tortuously unrewarding letter that forces you to compare apples and oranges. I want to move to I. Not until you finish with your H's! Well, I'm finished.)
Let's have the H another time when we have more energy.