In vitro curves cooked in laboratory glass, taking her slight toll forward wrapped in fur. Protection of innocence gilded by flash, stored on hard drives, and tut-tutted over by experienced eyes, one dimension removed. It stays behind pleats and remains inactive, almost unknowing or just naïve.
Captured within the frame, desire, filtered by cornea and experience, ruminates on wonder. Even with expectation-the-shock-absorber there are still stunned moments, quiet reflections on the contents, dumbed mammals and never a damn. It is as if just after orgasm or a knock to the face. Stars and butterflies, the toast of the town.
Without memory the minutes stack as moments of revelations, of awakenings anew. Before astonishment lay blindness and silence, then the world is birthed onto you knowing only those talents with which you were born. Emotions strike out, large and unencumbered, raw and feral. Behind tweed, the greying combed hair, behind muscle memory stands confusion shining bright lights.