Dish soap mix melting on paint can lids.
A siphoned sight of dreams develop over the frame.
Bright and muted colors muddle the lens.
Forearm hairs prickle and goose flesh pop, pop, pops.
Crackling tissue paper stuffed in used cardboard toilet paper rolls.
While the smoothness of pouring honey is ruined by fly paper fingers.
Breathing is labored, then rhythmic.
Electric caresses shoot out to nerve endings, and back again.
Then, all of a sudden:
Standing diminutive within a black hole.
Looking upward, outward, inward,
but not downward.
As soon as you do that, you become unmoored and move through space-time at a speed faster than light.
Which is a construct that is yet undiscovered and deemed impossible.
Yet, it is, was, and forever will be,
despite our best efforts to derail dreams through the application of reason.
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