Never beyond the horizon we saw what was there for us:
an amalgam of lightning crystals and the fumes of preconceived hopes.
My best friend, Destiny, desired the fall, but I could only guarantee the vernal equinox against her imploring, smiling eyes. They were like the future. Time, dragged by the riptides of some restless, oceanic spirit, let her body embrace the starfish on the sand as we lay beneath a dripping watermelon. We lazily lapped the perspiration of the sun.
The lips parted like golden butter yielding to a blade. We bade the resistance adieu. We knew that we would be carried away someday by His gentle hands. Waiting is effortless to a rose. Not just any flora we adore, for seven epochs prophesized the existence of reality in radical bloom.
Trade in the material for the ethereal, my dear friend. Lest you be cast aside in the chilled shadows of matter. The superfluous energy fields of the idle, radiate with the dull intensity of those X-rays originating from the viscosity-pockets of the Milky-Way.
Murky, quaint, cute, her face and porcelain teeth bequeathed the aspirates and labials of language to my discretion. Like an astronaut held by the throes of the moon, words were subject to my deft manipulation. All the while, heaven was on her galactic mind.
It makes sense that all this should come from the far left. The right model will summarize any quandary of the heart as it had for me. Volumes of pedagogy instruct us to follow the information freeway of linear thought. I brought disparity into reason.
She kept me grounded.
Unfounded colloquialism rends the schism of the mundane and the mystery of living. As they take and take, I’ll maintain my giving until tomorrow forces redirection. But you, my dear friend, will never be carried in afterthought. To truly understand the reason for this Earth appearance, one must gently part the fog that coats the density of guarded inhibition. Time to be like children. Reach for my hand. I’ll journey with your trust along the horizon until we finish what was started at the entrance of our conception.
an amalgam of lightning crystals and the fumes of preconceived hopes.
My best friend, Destiny, desired the fall, but I could only guarantee the vernal equinox against her imploring, smiling eyes. They were like the future. Time, dragged by the riptides of some restless, oceanic spirit, let her body embrace the starfish on the sand as we lay beneath a dripping watermelon. We lazily lapped the perspiration of the sun.
The lips parted like golden butter yielding to a blade. We bade the resistance adieu. We knew that we would be carried away someday by His gentle hands. Waiting is effortless to a rose. Not just any flora we adore, for seven epochs prophesized the existence of reality in radical bloom.
Trade in the material for the ethereal, my dear friend. Lest you be cast aside in the chilled shadows of matter. The superfluous energy fields of the idle, radiate with the dull intensity of those X-rays originating from the viscosity-pockets of the Milky-Way.
Murky, quaint, cute, her face and porcelain teeth bequeathed the aspirates and labials of language to my discretion. Like an astronaut held by the throes of the moon, words were subject to my deft manipulation. All the while, heaven was on her galactic mind.
It makes sense that all this should come from the far left. The right model will summarize any quandary of the heart as it had for me. Volumes of pedagogy instruct us to follow the information freeway of linear thought. I brought disparity into reason.
She kept me grounded.
Unfounded colloquialism rends the schism of the mundane and the mystery of living. As they take and take, I’ll maintain my giving until tomorrow forces redirection. But you, my dear friend, will never be carried in afterthought. To truly understand the reason for this Earth appearance, one must gently part the fog that coats the density of guarded inhibition. Time to be like children. Reach for my hand. I’ll journey with your trust along the horizon until we finish what was started at the entrance of our conception.
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