I sit upon your beautiful face With me your eyes are surrounded in lace You wear a cream to make me longer But only vitamins will make me stronger

In cauldrons of aqua, a green spirit’s delight, A cleansing specter, unseen by night. Humble alchemist of water's rebirth, Its touch turns murk to purity, for what it's worth.

I have a spin, but I am not in a dance. I make food smooth, but I don't chew. What am I?

I have no tongue, but I can tell tales of arrivals. I have no voice of my own, yet I mimic chimes and buzzes. I am mounted but never ride. What am I?

THESE CHURN AIR The letters above will help you find, A pair of words that bring to mind, Massive storms over land and sea. Tell me now, what can they be?