Hi
Love. I ponder this mystic, as forgiving errors, adrift this psychic dimension.
I see you growing, as to imagine waves, tiptoeing at a chamber. Our hearts
vibrate, unto an earthquake, to wander through others. There’s acres of pride,
sanded to perfection—this inner solar system. Its lunar tears, for midnight
dreams, stenciled in wishes; wherewith, are passions, a collage of angst,
chiseled at visions. I love us etching, lost in chants, to experience this
nuance. I must explain, this mystic force, it rests as an inward touch; as
ink-stained palms, or psychic designs, or this test exploding hearts. Let us
envision, this abstract reality, as concrete as intuition; to love you more, as
to wrestle ethics, our woes in a basin. We feel unknown, as hidden lanterns,
gilded in treasures; but art be life, this verdant mind, gliding upon zephyrs;
as fully charged, this vernal soul, adrift as mere vapor. It couldn’t be real,
these droplets of life, as unsettled emotions; to cleave to dreams, as awaiting
faiths, trekking through a gravid abyss; to outshine woes, this shapeless
vacuum, at times to feel numb. This can’t be life—as reaching forever—this
timeless womb; where kitsch is kisses, as fleeting as leaves, asearch for
something permanent. I thought a teardrop, to usher a ritual, as filled with
yogis; but this is life, a feather as a mind, where energy floats; but how for
one, to generate such chi, to swarm as a locomotive? I can’t but test it, this endless
necktie, this collar of a woman; for dolor lingers, as something dulce, where
intention slumbers; wherewith, are jewels, an orchard of friends, watching
closely—to love your soul.
