I resemble a plane, but I do not fly. You can walk upon or lie with me.

I rule from velvet valleys where crumbs and coins reside My voice is silent lightning, my click an unseen guide I hush the loud, revive the dark, make worlds appear and flee I’m always lost between the cushions. What could I be?

My great chambers filled with portraits of the dead. My hallways lined with tablets adorned with numbers, valued only in your head. I may be graced with pictures of those you hold most dear, you’ll entomb and crush me, pinned beneath your rear.

I can be both sweet and sour, I make certain people cower. I am quite famous in stories and tales. My seed, when potent, can turn people pale.

I have a lens, but I do not have a eye. I am often seen in the hands in front of you.