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The Meal
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Beauty of Reality In this place, the is one certainty?
Darkness.
A state breaking normal characteristic, Rendering not solitude, but composing a setting, allowing image through sound and smell.
A dense thickness develops?
Moisture.
Warmth surrounds my skin, Rising like the morning fog, greeting my brow with a smile.
Fragrance, one rich and fresh floats amidst the fog?
Inviting.
Using methods of tactic and coy it protrudes my outer layer, Filling in an unseen, unspoken void with comfort.
The clamor, the surrounding atmosphere grows tense?
Stress.
Each sound pierces the bliss, The surroundings otherwise offer.
Roaming, my fingers slide across?
Sensitivity.
Linens greet each finger, each nerve, Providing a compassion for the coarse hands arduous labor have created.
Light, vision, leaving the darkness?
Adjustment.
Vibrant colors disrupt the comfort darkness otherwise provides, Forcing the vision to take over, removing the utter ecstasy perceived through untraditional methods.
Settling back in, the magic is gone?
Reality.
The vision spoils the imagination, forcing the actual to be seen?
Alas the Magic is gone and It is time for Dinner.
