The cooling down of robotic-like ventilation tears people apart, and the innocent insulation of oxygen space removes a common interest between people...Living at a corner of the labyrinth, I bright my capillary sense in every dawn with transparent breeze, and the morning is clean and friendly. Hours turn in my manner of preference and I re-engineer the need of bread and breathe. The clouds on top of me carry on their parade with deforming shapes and consciousness. My shadowplay waits. August is another month of mathematical counts. I reduce the supermarket-mode, and I let myself embrace into the dancing moments. Some animals turn into their dominant mode in the palace of summer, like what my mouse suggested. My leaping fingers sing in the herb. My understanding about the world imitates the respectful layout pattern of the bookshelf, and two members join the family since yesterday from the bookstore discounter. My bicycle never sails on the sea, neither do my will. Favours of the perfume spread around the spiral staircase, and the awakening cells always stick on the cover of the vehicles. Crashes end and the sun still shines. I leave the curtain marched the way it desires. All of me is a retro to the scent of the sleeping lilies.
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