There's dawn and dusk beyond the clock as my invisible fingers weave into your soft scalp stories of yesterdays and tomorrows off the calendar. Storms settle at the vision of a sun reflecting serenity in your ocular depths. Smiles unfold and waves roll down. Dreams culminate in uncertain delicate spheres hanging from the edges of concrete sheds like a string of pearls. There's a series of thoughts, like a heap of dying breath, engulfing the cocoon before the flight of a random butterfly. The birth of a butterfly; the death of a caterpillar. What are thoughts but specks of life in a spotted narrative of wild goose chase...Body declines. Body decays. Discarded like a soiled diaper wrapped in stories of what used to be. Disposal is must, options are few. Donation only gratifies the self as you donate what you will no longer need. It's a sunburnt life, love. Every day. For, that which kills is that which cures. Ulcers sprout on distant shores like bouquets of wild blooms - too petty to be named, after intense showers of magnanimity.