Touch

Some moments seem to linger on for aeons. They make you dwell upon the imponderable. It feels like cotton candy: sugar and air.

Squeeze and it'll all turn into a small sickely damp wad of weeping pinky red. It all comes as quick as a staccato, a jittering of the brain. An inner jeering. Wishful fantasies and after a while it passes, like an epileptic fit.

An effulgence of your fervid imagination clinging to the flimsiest of straws.