I saw a face when I closed my eyes.
A crooked face with wrinkles blooming from the corners of her features,
like miniature florets of folded skin; a garden abound upon her face.
When she spoke, motes of dust formed pillows surrounding her lips,
searching, as if hungry, for a confined space in which to wallow.
Outward, slowly ascending, her words tangled together obstructing my view,
like a swam of bees en masse, kicking up a raucous noise that soon distracts me.
What was I searching for?