the delicate peach

Fullness to the degree of not lacking

All that could is devoured

A surprise

As pure as

Unexpected laughter

A concert of consciousness

Derived from an inky symphony of self

Not another, but the other, only

Evoking that aroma of interiority

To denomalize

And melt

Into the rich transmutable amalgum

Where the canon sticks

And echoes

We’re all magic here