Resurrection of beings

I will write what I want, for no metaphor stands between me and my beloved, nor a metaphor steeped in tobacco that interprets what the sun says to me. I am in full fitness now, freed from my golden shells, and put an end to Roland Barthes's intrusion. I have fortified myself with the poem, and I know that I am facing a primitive cell that prefers division to itself, and begins with the heart.