My
dearest swan—a bit laid back, for a bit intense. So see for stars, crumbled in
papers,
to
reopen love. The earth is torn, for religious parts, a group of fireworks. I
challenge
essence,
to pull a diamond, for a bit earnest. We feel in shades, to rapture souls, a
well
of inks; and every inkling, for hidden dreams, to take for center stage. I
thought
for
Shakespeare, a grand event, to settle for Frost; and Maya screams, to tug at
arts,
and pushing forward. Its utopic a fane, to see you swim, to sprinkle chlorine;
for
lakes
are muddy, and words are itchy, to direct in favors. So more to silence, a room
of
ghosts, held for temples. We speak it greyly, to agitate thoughts, to touch a
kernel;
for
we trek caves, and read petroglyphs, culling secrets; and breath is union, to
strike
the
unbreath, and still for breath. It’s oxymoronic—at prima facie, but more a
paradox:
to
go so deeply, as to lose count, and unlock satori. I extend vision, to pump a
heart,
streaming
through cosmos. You’re wise—my love, spinning for speaking, alive in
conversations;
and ever for souls, to pet a turtle—with kind words. I hear for mothers,
to
utter a voice, in such for tones; and such to die, to watch us grow, and
unleash life.
Its
wonder for miracle, and miracle a vase—filled with dreams. Be not amazed, but
ever
amazed, as strong as flexibility; for new a thought, to bend the old, where
teachers
sigh.
It’s ever the mind, and ever the soul, driving activities; and ever for heart,
to ache
through
feelings, to nurture emotions. So dare to freedom, where gems appear, an
poodles
murmur.
