I’d stop and rewind the cassette. Addicted—so delivered—held
by mesmerization. Some mirage—an ephemeral aura, an uncanny countenance—too much
is unfair. Thoughts clamor. Octopus hands. Spider silk, cobweb dynasties. A long
line of gorgeous, so devastating, rocket hearts, locked in atmosphere.
Photo perfect, sheer photogenic, contemporary phenotypes; austere yogis, wowing
graces, jigsaw beauty. At something unusual, making souls yelp, so filled by
force, determination, still gentle, so demanding, so casual. Most can’t be
decoded, nothing unique, most are aliens inside; to look steady on, like rowing
in sequence, I’d listen to reindeer eyes; so many watercolors, one watchword,
our trips are familiar; to adore one, as to replace one, fortunate to make a
soul person. Over blackberries, complaining of acidic pressure, to lean over
and exhale.
