Liquid Empires

A snowflake’s feelers radiate galaxies of light  into the space around. As it spreads, their frequencies are traveling long stretches of the unknown universe, looking for the resonating cosmic patches. Patches of memory preserved in a sustained instant stretched across the spreading galaxies of light. As it comes across the kindred soundbite, they fuse in the rhapsody that can hardly contain  its own luxurious idiolect. Thus, each such fusion is a seedpod proliferating plethora of fresh snowflakes. Disseminating crystalline galaxies.

The core of a snowflake opens up to the approaching residual of the previous merging.  Touch of the cosmic sample. Likethesmileofthesunshinefromamilderclime. Flowing into the center of the icy empire, extracting from its hidden depths a germ. Infusing it with a sparkle, travelling further. Its discreet, uninvasive flux penetrates the crevices in the snow flowers. Igniting each square nanometer of its kingdom, as it starts a gradual transformation into the gleaming polyphony pulsating with golden intensities.

As the shades of the ocular symphony are gaining fullness, its virulent radiance distills the amber from the impenetrable chasms. Touched by the sun’s smile, a dormant mass starts making movements not unlike those with which the face announces the moment when the crudeness of the day breaks the charms of the dream.  Nanometers of slow awakening. Hemorrhaging amber. As if it were still getting rid of the persistent dream’s presence. Bubbles moved by the torpor of the forced dialogue. Boiling density of its incomprehensible language. Amber flow moving upwards, as the snowflakes are being turned into caramel irises, cheese roses, cream violets, mousse daises, and vanilla-cinnamon glazed lilies. Moving upwards defying the thirty third law of physics, setting the mutual conditioning between mass and speed in stone. Stone knows no acceleration.

Moving elegantly in its heaviness. Until it reaches the summit of the stem and the fuzz at the crossroads, from which the petals take over the buzz. Only to spread it further. As the caramel magma is dripping down the outside wall of the stem, a three chord vomit of amber sound baroqueness is pouring into the space around. Heavier than the strongest gravitational pull. Slimier than king of the liquid jellies. Stickier than the driest of coats of honey smeared in the hair during a long, restful sleep. Like postcards from the journeys from eons ago. Journeys of their own dissolvement into the emptiness of uneventful eras. Smooth shift of the amber dominated landscape, as its withdrawal allows for the reconstitution of the melted snowlakes.