silhouette of all who choose to rummage. The transitory create the glare…blending whimsical batches of atmospheric gasses in hopes of harvesting the seeds of a lost identity. Skimming the top of the wet vault…there is an undulating perception of grandeur. Baiting and cool, it slaps hard by way of
introduction and then retreats to the other side of the pillow. Somewhere in the midst…a tilted cheek rests upon the underside of a warm palm…
intrigued by the adaptation that glows bright from your truant shadow…beguiled and ready to take you in…it is your turn to move along.