Transparent Creations

"It seems simple, if tainted."
I wondered what she meant,
touching the perfect sheen.
The expression it left upon my fingers was jaded.
Half there and half not.
Half amazed and uncertain.
It was trembling and unknowing.
If it had eyes, the whites would be showing.

The curvaceous nature of it lent to a nigrescent center.
The clocked edges tick-tocking away.

I wanted to ask what it was,
but the question seemed too simple.
Too easy.
I fixed my glasses and thought with my eyes upon it.

"What do you think?"
She asked the question I wasn't sure I dared to answer.
The taste of it on my skin flickered against my mind.

"It's beautiful." I said.
"Like rainbow zest gone dark.
It's sliding away now, uncertain and aware.
Too aware, and while still shaky, certain that it IS.
It is something. Here.
Hallowed existence without knowing what it is being."

My words sounded silly and inadequate in my mouth.
Like cotton and flies.

"It's beautiful," I repeated.
And it was. It was deiform.
It was a nebulous intrigue before my eyes.
I wanted to soak it into my skin to try and understand.
She understood, I think, my fascination.
There was a smile.

I wondered what else I could've said later,
or perhaps asked.
I could've asked something, I thought.
The bedsheets curled about me, warm and comforting.
It had been cold there, cold and wistful.
I wondered if she wanted a friend.
But she was me, too.
Her creation mine own, if only in dream.
Formation of fog and mist.