Pretty Little Thing

Its eyes incandescently strike me, with each gentle caress of my finger.
In the palm of my hand melted plastic, and rare metal. Entranced in reverie, surrounded by the motley, but deep within it is only you and me and all knowledge in a web you've caught me. Hypnotizing glare frozen in a photograph enhanced for later play back or to share when I fall self-conscious in a spiral. Perhaps some of that motley also stuck in the glowing eyes between their fingers will connect with a façade of thumbs up.