Hold me.
I am solid.
I fit in the curve of your palm.
I am a contradiction of oppositions: fragile and strong, solitary and multitudinous.
Tap me gently, and I yield to pressure, thin walls and membranes stretching open.
Rap me decisively, and I cleave, neatly sliding out.
Crack me harshly, and I shatter into jagged shards, piercing myself.
Separate and whisk me:
I thicken into voluptuous richness
or
I billow and froth into airiness.
Swirl me together, whole, and I strengthen and lift.
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