A desk and a chair tend to go together. They go together and they are brown. My kitchen is black brown and the basket where I keep my pears is red brown. Pears are not desks but they make chair sounds, and pears are not-like-desks and desks are not-like-pears, and they connect through dissimilarity and tea stains. A kitchen is brown like a bruise is brown like a pear is green brown, soft green brown, blades of grass and a frown, countryside, country lines and a fawn.
The feeling of liberty is fleeting - we are always tethered, tender. We are fire extinguished and red lipstick and a hearth. Snow and mountains and a hearth. Rocks and no hearth.
The rain pounds on the window glass and it’s grey. Rock sounds. Rock sounds like fire sounds, and heart like hearth, and pear like chair, and kiss like this.
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