Taillights receding, like blank eyes of red with lackluster thoughts of leaving. They’re brainwaves collapsing on film for the entire world to see. Taken out of context, with many lines of white these words may seem complex. They’re synapses collapsing on paper for anyone to read. Taking photographs of June Consuming every thought If only to release These butterflies I’ve caught. Copy fades, like fleeting afternoons in the drawing of the shades. They’re underwater lullabies that no one can hear. Illustrated passion spreads like new disease but soon goes out of fashion. It’s an understated postulation that no one cares to prove. Taking photographs of June Consuming every thought If only to release These butterflies I’ve caught.