It's Warm.

It's warm
He said.

As unraveled as a guitar loop
Endlessly reverberating in the straight bright morning.
Shades of fleshy leaves without twitch.
Without a thought of
-And that delightful softness of being-
Nothingness.
The kick drum hits.
Awash in blending slender seaweed glitterings.
A pattern, a groove, a line you know is
Fitting.
Chaos versus the little whisper of light touching his cheekbone.

Very warm
He said.

And smiled inwardly.