Focus.
  It's how perception alters when the
          overlooked explodes with
                                         prominence.

Stretching this vast expanse of past all along.
Smoking tendrils climbing from my mouth.
I only have one face,
                    Plato was wrong.

And kisses linger, but with time, fade away.
I feel my lungs fill with the entirety of it.
Was I only one,
                     *when sculpted from clay?