Grind and whirring makes my lips.

It's not a soft thing, it's not a delicate thing. It's coarse but weightless and it's all morning and all afternoon and it's oils and labor. Gavin Masterson thinks precious thoughts are cloud like and sweet things are moist. It's dark, it's available, it's ready when burnt. It was a plant, it was a commodity. It will come and go and come and go forever.