nothing about beauty is objective; grace resides in the particular. from the soul-stirring perfume of arabian jasmine to a sky streaked with raspberry sorbet. the ocean sings to me in a key perfectly attuned to my ear. there is nothing secular about love: a poem’s beating heart, shattering crisp of the last black sesame kouign amann. the spell cast by salt-kissed skin, sun gathered in the crease that bisects your back. a glowing sight which quieted my distemper.