felt, have you ever, a world without fingers ,grooves, or edges of roughness?
it does not feel of anything expect feeling more deeply than hands ever have been.
Coming at the backs of your eyes with peculiar easy intense banding of unbroken shades of light, it does not emit a single colour instead it fills with brief singular tingling of being
a texture more wordless in words uneasy to say a poem of trite inevitable singing.