Prologue
I arrive in petal-layers,
two eyes carrying small moons,
my snout a compass that hums north.

Body I
Pink says: be soft but not simple.
Violet says: keep an archive under each curve.
Magenta says: now turn—slow—like a carousel of skin.
The lines remember every touch before it happens.
I speak through the nostrils: a velvet trumpet,
mapping the room in circles you can’t quite finish.

Body II
I practice the science of almost-smiles.
Each segment is a door I can close without locking.
Your gaze presses here; the panel warms and opens.
Inside is dusk, sugar-fine and breathable.
I name the places as I pass: Corner of Soft Gravity;
Lane of Quiet Mirrors; Plaza of Blushing Stone.

DADA-Break
oink—oink? oink!
oi nk oi nk oi nk
O I N K (whispered)

Closing
I stay layered so tomorrow can keep unfolding me.
Bring another light and I’ll redraw my face,
one petal further into the evening.