Certain physics build mansions; something meta connects souls. With asking one needs – each famished for mind-ship, while darkness is by infatuation, by soul-maze. I took to grayness, pure imagination, steeped in emotion. An uneven excursion, fraught by exhilaration. Captured in it. It kept with velocity.
It's just for a time.
Mornings will be warmer. The sun will speak incognito. Maybe a deepness, a realization, as one is with breath.
Tender arts. Turquoise magic.
There’s more to life. So warlike, thus, bellicose, felt abstruse to self, so imperceptible.
To image a feeling; to feel unattended; forgetting origins.
It’s just for a time.
I sense tentacles. I fret its science.
If never born again, something meta, it lives eternally.
The souls of skies, right?
