In this eye I saw, swimming in oil, a stuck receptacle of life own making.
But when she came, all coloured and vicious, she stared like flames burning my thumbs.
Before darkness shrouded a minute of time, she screamed through walls examples of their hubris- or mine, whichever the boiling point gave.
I switched beneath tentacles, hoping to grasp one and ease the aching in my over-dry wrist. Thus before I shook my language and submission became glory, I felt the gentle whisper breeze along the canal and tell me- with a sharp stabbing;