A low degree erotic feeling, idle, lightly brushing the possibilities of arousal corresponds to a highly creative mental state. You are recalled to embodiment and distant fragmentary memories each conveying a vividly constructed moment flash up easily, and with them associated fantasies, inexplicit, mere hints that you can reassemble in any way you'd like. The purest form of eroticism is in these rippling moments of sensory life, uprooted from time, falling into the radiant present with all their texture and timbre and wild synaesthesias, their teasing promises of happiness. This has nothing to do with transgression, with forcing a forbidden boundary, but is a native element. But into this faunish afternoon let the green eyes and pale freckled skin of the other enter and tremble as you reach out your fingers and for the first time graze her dewy flesh.