--------/iii ccc

In a contemporary view I think, I see, that I can furrow my brow however I adapt myself to furrowing. Your gaze is something that goes on, to points. I do not choose to fix it. It is your choice, my choice is mine. I delve into the behind of your eyes. They are dark spaces. Dark as the internal visceral flesh. It would suit them in moonlight to be open and peering upward. Its beauty, insight, and forlorn to gaze inward. The simmering crust of many manipulated and obfuscated moments. The calcium leeching inward to some point that will not be known to anyone. To pass inward, through and end up somewhere in a less known region. Isolated, corpuscles engorging and relaxing as the flow of the moment overtakes the physicalities of being. I cannot say whether I can say with certainty that feeling is frugal. Route applications, to being and applying to a restrained sentiment. Transgressing some foolish childhood ideal that has matured. Not in adulthood, but held in a primal state of conifering systems.