This Is Your Tune
The advance colour modernize the grace point where you claim you are the embryo, and the person passing on in a hospital bed, all combined in a swirl like caramel in ice cream. You rule like tissue moving over bone - silkenly elastic. You always spring back no matter if you are torn sometimes, always you repair yourself. Some frequency on the radio dial speaks to you in a slightly off channel crackle. Your song plays on even though A.M radio is dead.