We are nowadays happy with our new membrane bathroom door that now sheds a certain mauve hue on baths,while we are in song, with shower flowering on our cool backs. The shower streams as if from rock skirted by trees ,its vapors swirling like their winter breaths.
Our song is under breath, in some mutters. Our vapors are on glass that hides in smoke our rather banal faces, their jejune laughter. We are, in fact, making up metaphors, being upbeat about our recent turns of phrase.