into the basin, smell of a child and crocodile

jazz played in the basin while reportage broadcast: into the basin, smell of a child is a color powder I enjoyed a lot. It’s pinkish and there is a mirror and scent of a maternity inside. Water gurgled through the basin and colors of pinkish maternal aura recur the rapture feel, tiptoeing rays of a sleep, recurring all the time, in all directions, thither. I sat and wondered of crocodile in the warm bathtub and walls of crossing chamber flowing noises of sheer shush-tone and slept.