A post inspired by Dieu on the Grass‘s post with the same premise.
You are the rice sieved through jelly, sweetened in a peculiar way
You are the wool bleached by sunlight
You are the soak of detergent in porcelain and lace
You are the sky constantly stripped and re-attired
You are the burn of tree roots for baby carrots’ cradle
You are the orange filtering through candlelit napkins
You are the wall suckled with holes rippling, gravitational
You are the clouds who herald neon light in the dusk and stain the pages with shadows.
You are the wisp of hope in the glass slapped and powdered with ancient code.
You are Not Here but Somewhere.