It's not painful to wait for the noise of someone undressing. The light-dimmer pauses. No sweet known against syrup. Hours with the cook, her treatment of steam is balancing the soup. Suppose an embryo marks itself in the territories of a woman's brain cells.
Light is the subject.
Watery, the game about an entity distinguishes itself as a single object. It starts snowing in the name of winter, other ice is mixed with chocolate. From going down meeting the warmth, that thrill and this attachment. One laughter, then more. Hunger, yes, but it is an apple, never been allowed to be tasted, that stays with some oily smell on Cezanne's canvas painting the kite blue the color of home .