I start at the red crescent cupping the disk of the iris, Osiris himself peeking out to signify new life of afterlife
He dips under the water line that is the white Nile, decreasing in the creases of swollen flesh and freshly pressed purpleness
Indigo moons move in a kaleidoscope of potency, undertones of golden stones speckle freely, openly
A torrent of jade florets wishbone down from deep, deep beneath the inner beginnings of sleep: easing, tapering, into greening vapors above the apple of his cheek
The apple is sweet, untouched by the violence of weak minds
Healed by copious opiates,
we breathe,
and for now, all is opulent (blind).