It was dreaming
that brought me here. Some kind of singing, a yowled pentatonic melody, and the flocking of untethered bit-crunched masses to a howling youth. It wasn't unexpected, my life was full of unwashed feelings at the time, glittering ponies placed perfunctorily before me, or snakes, or cameras - but still : piquant. Maybe just one, too, and elusive, too, and washed and prancing.
The hearing in that dream was distinct and unavoidable, and I sank in the listening to the warm bath at the bottom of distressed loam and silt. That bath, somehow untouched, oozed languid, sweet-smelling gasses. I took that bath and ran with it, forgetting my feet would slip, and my shoulders were overcharged by the task, leaving me bruised and beguiled by my own witless actions, but glad for it, beaming with witlessness and gratitude. Finally and again.
The hearing in that dream was distinct and unavoidable, and I sank in the listening to the warm bath at the bottom of distressed loam and silt. That bath, somehow untouched, oozed languid, sweet-smelling gasses. I took that bath and ran with it, forgetting my feet would slip, and my shoulders were overcharged by the task, leaving me bruised and beguiled by my own witless actions, but glad for it, beaming with witlessness and gratitude. Finally and again.