As I lie in my black room, their voices move in the shadows from side to side by my ears, and I stare into the void.
I can smell the giggles of women outside of this sterile darkness which creates a tingle in my fingers; and the scent of my coma fades.
Reaching to touch the ebony plaster I taste a fresh wishing well; the clinking of tossed change dissolves the walls I face.
Seeing trees of orange and green with dizzy, darkened bark dancing to the rhythm of clicking clock hands of branches they leave.
Silhouettes of pink wings flying in a dry, yellow dream spreading through a blue day float away with their feathers.
The laughter and light of an amorphous love shapes the round aurora that their sound and shine pour Into me.