There seemed to be a pierce in the table leg,
only a saturated stripe of light in the dark ambient.
The mahogany writing desk was an almost black antonym
reflecting angular light beams.

A box in the middle front of the table was pleading him or
was it just the stroboscopic blue diagonal lights that
randomly fell in the window region, penetrating for short
peeks at a time.

"I wish..." he said, but did not hear himself.

He put his paw on top of it as if to hold it shut as it was
already. The beams variant movement sometimes caressed a
side of his forehead somewhere at temple latitude.
Some glowing was overflowing out the box's edge as he lifted
the lid.
Whispering plea ...

There, inside, a luminous round object, a golden orb, but
merely a guess to what its shape is under the opaque light
surface of the emitting object.

She was still.
Moving a limb arbitrarily, submerged in the iridescent
glittering.
Collaborating..., or a plea of the heart?
Responding to his fingers, texturing, without a contact,
the surface of the light, breaking it with dark shadowy
formations, only saturating the projected oblongs of light
to the inside of his fingers.
Her shoulder line twitched, building up the words she
was giving birth to.
Uttering the fruit of their union,
although he did not hear himself:

"I..."
"Wish..."