Elementary, My Dear Watson, Elementary!

The coloured inks blossom into flowers emerge from the snowdrift whiteness of the page as if defying this Winter with that imagined Summer. Here, a page is blank screaming with silence. There, a page is mute except for a rose-coloured fingerprint whorled into a world of its own whole...complete a spiralling galaxy becoming itself a whirlpool a vortex of you perfect clear precise neat as indivisibly you as could ever be as if the years had not come and passed as if Life, its questions asked but left unanswered as if there was no ifs as if you blinded temporarily by your falling hair brush clenched like a rose between your teeth holding this page between forefinger and thumb staining it with the self of this solitary fingerprint calling across the years; “Make us a cup of tea, love! ”