At a beach on a coast walking-distance from my present home, the wind cast rivulets into the grains of sand.
In the shallow shadows, I can see the gray leading into yellow Bleeding into its fellow. Impossible to separate (or, at least, misleading).
So their togethered taupeness will be sampled and classified in a blue munsell book with a breaking cover I should've returned ages ago.
It's useful like this. But did you know a few pages away you could find the blue-green stain of my veins?
Why do I know this? There are only so many ways, after all, to fill the time in the back of a truck in Georgia. (Even fewer if you keep your seatbelt on.)
So chart my freckles next, darling. Find a new slot and show me how my skin shares the same page as your own. Just on a different row.