The whorl, coffee dregs design, when you drop them into water at rest.
Twirl, silently mushrooming. Expansive. Microcosmic clouds, bursting and frothing.
Life-ing themselves, taking the first breath.
Gulping the first breath.
Dusty liquid, dusky seeds. Blooming, blossoming. Morphing, mightily, into cotton murmuring wool.
Not knowing their place, these drops, sudden and seamless, seaming, swooping, swimming clouds of ever-expanding, animate cotton wool.
Desert sand-storm. Sand song. Liquid storm in a Cup.
Free of its restraint. Its lifeless burden and gravity. The tedious weight of its unknowable mortal sin.
Clouds please, they do, as they please, as they did, when I was still, a child. Always.
Nuages.nuances.nascent.new beginnings.never ending.
Storms, in a Cup, clouds from my cigarette. Curling wisp-fully.
Curly, they call, me:)