Wash. It washes over me like so many sounds exuding from the stack of speakers. I see a vision of a ghost a half form of myself moving like a twitching branch in the wind of a hurricane. You move like tomorrow and pull me into the melee of your body. Thoughts like a voice pouring over the electric currant flowing in my brain. The only being brings me out to stand on that mountain to so that I may take flight with wings of white so much like Icarus but only closer top the sun than he could ever have gotten.
