The overlay of tissue paper and the quiet layering it creates is soothing magic where I could lose myself only to find myself. Like reading a well-written, engaging novel. Like roasting vegetables, especially carrots. Like reading a poem that the mouth craves. Well, this isn't tissue paper, but there is magic in the calm , in an everything-ness.
Rays off the head, as random apps disconnect with a counter claim. What about my lost sunglasses? In the car maybe. The allure of sensitivity, the allegations of focus, I write to someone I cannot see, offering a counter claim. it must be summer, as I remember wanting to go the beach.
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