Water Lens.
Man with soft wet legs is coming at me, dripping into the frame. I am all hydrogen, just sitting there and refracting him. There isn't even a suggestion in his mind of how I am making him look. I have two atoms of breathing fuel and if I could, I'd sigh deeply with it. The sloppy man looks so poetic, flowing, as if his life were an unbounded stream. He is coming at me, edges thicken. My environment blinks a while, my smooth dome is shielded then uncovered. The mass of man melts towards the foreground, he's all calm and dream like a fish in the ocean. He's coming at me and pink shape becomes hand, anonymous blob stretches out into finger. Cavernous deep expands into mouth. Carbondioxides and waste are projected all over me. I'm gone, assimilated. He has perfect edges. I envy him the clarity of his shape.
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