carpet cleaning

The silence of shade allows me to conjure up wary women with grapevine artifacts dangling from the lobes of their elephant ears.

Blinds epically turned up.

The rupture of a dimly sun-lit room sprawls at my fingertips, sometimes even forecasting upon me a feeling of uncertainty. Afternoon wake-ups and late night fuck-ups dares me to consider that I live in a mere weightless body. A vestibule for the white gleaming light, that is me. It is skeptical. It is emotionlessly possible that I feel this ray of Natalie-core. That is what I will say. The fingertips end at my elbows, and toetips reach to my knees. This body is so stretched and worn, and then I will begin to shrink.

To repel, like a mountain climber in the brutal glacier-thought alps.

I want floor fairytales on ABC foam tiles that connect like puzzle pieces. Indentations that fit like spoons.

I want the blue fairy.