Nothing more common than two, three, four, more strikes of lightening in the same sodden sea.
Salted.., a spice?
The fragility of an ecosystem, a second's exposure too long! To long- to want.
A word, a common identity. Nothing. The graphite quickly glides across this crisp paper. It cracks. This sound is scribble. It colours in my sheets with those branded words that flow. A brainstorm, a downpour of ideas, mine!, escapes onto this pad. It splashes and hits you. Words broken by an impasse, between you and me, unbridgeable.
The spice differs, who/which.what are you?
The taste is mine. I taste this water, can you see? It's sweet.
Can you see my world? Can you hear it..? It now swirls like a moonlight traviata, I wish! My voice, it's in you.
This word, it has a fleshy texture. It is full, aromatic with the ideeas, tones, representations from me. This word, this world is me, you are in me. Can you be me?
Strikes of lightening in the same sodden sea.
Lights are frightening in this tame, assured, to be.
Don't look, See! Stay free! Watch me through you're silky veils, beautyful. I let you choose the colour. Hear me once and lost I am. To your pleasing I am either encaged and nourrished, keep that key tight! or I have gone. I'm a picture, if I last your choice.
