Within this dance two bodies become three at the gate of teeth and sand. A forgetful rose tangos alone on shell flagstone as signs of an impending decline appear on slivers from an obsidian dome
—under this static gods will roast!
(…the rose wilts under an observatory’s glare)
From desert mount to sea crest a screen will be drawn. Every thread saturated with the color most likely to succeed in representing an experience that is rare, unique, and available to all. Let’s say this color is the spiral of a drone or the spine of a bee as it enters the hive to find supine the essence of yellow and spice. A fragment of eyed fragrance combing riverside bloom to salt nettle dredged from memory’s vine. The aforementioned spiral will curve outwards following sound ribboned in dust blue with mauve calligraphies resisting.
Morning time with a bee on my shoulder taking in the scene