A mangled tapestry of
Polariod tones
set to a soundtrack both familiar and vague.

A faint, fleeting brush on the arm.
The adrenaline rush of true nostalgia.
A dream had oft in childhood,
echoing across a cavernous hall
An estranged twin brother.

You speak to yourself, soft and slow
and I, the voyeur;
glued fervently behind the wall of the next room,
quaking with pleasure
The sound is beautiful. ... more