Last night I dreamt I held in my hand an apple sized kiwi.

I looked at it in bewilderment as I knew it to be a hybrid.

I went about to set my teeth to it so as to indulge in it.
I hazily lived this dream through patches of foggy scenes and much the way I would see the world without my glasses, blurryish.

The rupture of the light mustard, bristle texture of the kiwi peel ran much the way a fault would in the event of an earthquake as I with the strength of my hand, squeezed it.
The interiors were a tempting ambrosia my passive eyes knew of; I stared in wait of that juice enveloped in that transparent husk which soon would fill my flesh with uncountless experiences.

It was a scrumptious experience leaving me very unsatisfied.