Wheeze.
A sound—a noise, straining puffs; frigid aches of indigo, navy waves and splattering beryls: waxing and waning heaves.
Constriction.
Agitation.
Wrong.
Rustling and warping, waves of sepia and umber and something new and right, but there is a wrongness; prevailing, overcoming, persistent.
It develops, changes, alters, and causes friction: pain.
Then, a falter: clarity in a young mind: a shift.
It isn’t enough, but the gasping—opened mouth, gums, and tongue peaking—ebbs.
There’s warmth—new and exciting and right in the midst of this wrongness—lulls, hums, a lullaby.
This body: strange, yet his and mine and connected to theirs, shambling others of his scent and mind and love: his.
A passion.
This new pudgy form, flailing, scrambling, pushes, heaves, and waddles into his giver; this is texture, tresses tangling and softness and a radiating something he cannot yet name.
The wrongness lingers, but there is more to be found.
A sound—a noise, straining puffs; frigid aches of indigo, navy waves and splattering beryls: waxing and waning heaves.
Constriction.
Agitation.
Wrong.
Rustling and warping, waves of sepia and umber and something new and right, but there is a wrongness; prevailing, overcoming, persistent.
It develops, changes, alters, and causes friction: pain.
Then, a falter: clarity in a young mind: a shift.
It isn’t enough, but the gasping—opened mouth, gums, and tongue peaking—ebbs.
There’s warmth—new and exciting and right in the midst of this wrongness—lulls, hums, a lullaby.
This body: strange, yet his and mine and connected to theirs, shambling others of his scent and mind and love: his.
A passion.
This new pudgy form, flailing, scrambling, pushes, heaves, and waddles into his giver; this is texture, tresses tangling and softness and a radiating something he cannot yet name.
The wrongness lingers, but there is more to be found.