Galvanised by a raspberry kiss, the dents you seek may not taste so sweet. A sight a right once left pulverised in an embrace behind my eyes. A bereaved, grouchy staircase unwinds, each step a shimmy down the chimney where a beansprout turns its quiet merry-go-round, green with the audacity to keep growing there. Jade spins in acrimonious circles while sanctimonious beige seed grazes the shallow print of a time yet to unscript.