Only with the finger tip I touched it,
inquisitive of the taste of it.
But it creeps.
It has spread over my body a slime
and into my soul a stupor.
It is a film over the eyes,
blurring the delicate figuring and ethereal hue of things.
It clogs the ears.
The finer tones of truth are muffled from me.
Beauty has turned her back on me.