This corners’ closest to me, it’s crease extended across the gnash of humid air rising. Friction floating beneath brown ankles thirsty for the squish of electric rain. The corner sends me dead vibrations, one contour-less abstraction so definite; the other bold senses fade from reality. The heat of dessert sand, sweet nectar of loquats and the vermillion of swishing silk skirts, scented with jasmine and choking smoke. One line, infinite space. The bind of converging planes separated by an endless line.