Clean, refresh, and wear anew. A weekly task that one must do. More, or less, depending beds, Sweet smells pulled over heads.

For some, necessary. Others? Accessory. Clear views, Apfel a muse.

I touch the earth and I touch the sky, but if I touch you, you’ll likely die. What am I?

I am thin and flat. People put messages inside me. I travel from one home to another. What am I?

Stretched tight before my life begins, then touched by colour, brush, and whim. I never move, yet worlds I hold, in silence stories through me are often told.