Why I love the shadows set across the room by colored transparencies: I want to be cellophane, or glass, or blue plastic maps of galaxies and constellations, as light peers through your windows and sets ghosts of night skies against your walls.
A square patch of red, against light blue alpha centauri outlines- colliding and angular glass bottles molded into columns, streaking from the floor to ceiling in all thier colors.
My body is the reflection of the window I've got on every cell, and if you come closer, I promise: Inside, I am illuminated by colors of the sun, passing through you and into me. I am clear and crystilline. But this purity has nothing to do but wait to be lit by sitting next to you: and then I become a kaleidoscope.
All these colors passing through me in silence; ask me for the words, or else I may not bother looking.
-e.
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