A most peculiar sort of detachment, I 
toddled like a child, reached like a child,
perceived this hellish wonderland as only 
a child could. Stepped one unsteady
foot in front of the other, inhaling 
from silk and plastic the most 
intoxicating 
aroma 
I've ever imagined.
Like brushing a butterfly's powder 
wing I brushed petals of fire, of auburn
and gold and taupe, my fingertips ingested their essence, came
alive
with the life synthetic pistils 
and stamens could not hold 
until
ultraviolet lights poisoned my view,
the end of the aisle opened like an
earthworm's greasy maw,
icing tips and sketchbooks and ribbon
consuming a beauty that could only
exist
in my mind's transfiguring eye.