There are hidden worlds in spectrums of blue that consume phantoms in tired ceremonies. Memories of giants playing in the forgotten wilderness float in the mist like funeral pollen, and the urgent want falls dormant on slender tongues . There is sweetness to the flourish, a gentle creeping that enraptures minds of sorrow.

A wet slug, with tittering tentacles, whinnies like a stallion before mounting a rock to stretch out its silken skin and absorb the atmospheric moisture.

Here is where brilliance is live saturation, and depth is a slow touching mineral glow.

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 23rd, 2007 at 8:42 pm and is filed under Lost in the Ether, prose. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.