Muck bit her ivory nightgown, as if earth hungering after her...the delicate collapse of a napkin,she. Hours poured atop her head, her shaggy, silvery mane suspended--its reluctant bounce captured at midpoint...as a spiderweb under ultraviolet light. Desert sands lost in contemplation, reminiscent of her flesh--divulge her core as she sleeps in a fetal position. Her body spasms awkwardly...its will visibly slowed from initial motion. As the paralysis experienced by prey amid the astral annals of nightmares. She'll rise into that shine, wonder at the nightmare's symbology...talk to her garden--whilst thinking of her time to come.
Silkworm breached the parcel of time, its cocooned inertia coarsed through the opalescent eye of God to Godhood. Of time's ruination redeemed in a solitary work...cupped airless the unbridled form of a trapezist spent itself. Opened and closed somersaults atripped a piece of said space... nothingness regenerated to move, to take step of itself. A self-argumentative abstraction glowed...undid its silken flag-- firmly planted in an undiscovered region...her time come.