Let’s see. Crystals delicate as snow drifting downward in nitrogen or spiking inside Mexican caverns in deathly heat vibrate, perhaps echo, replicating until the function of it all is performed as sex. Sweaty. A wet baby in womb exiting the birth canal pulsating and crying. The baby rests on mother, each knowing the other which began in a star system billions and billions of years ago when matter, crystalized in cold and heat, was carried away by the shockwave of an exploding star, in its bands of waves to form new stars and places to be new life. That was the sound of snowflakes caught by your tongue last year, when we kissed. Swallowing in a closed mouth, opening eyes to see what all the years have brought us. The delicate snowflake made from water, here for billions of years, drifted in space for billions before, melted away in an instant, without history, without gods, inside us.