Joy Our Love

Oxygen molecules siphoned unto love, Love bewildering the Oxen. Creation in Caroline. A sign of all creation. The wicked torch is laying downward, Upon the upward Wikkan's resolve. Saving the private stash. To stash the prevailing Savior. We use a sword among the ethos. And ponder ye infinite edges. Burnt are the trees, For they have passed us by. And saw you in darkness.

I am strong; especially at 24 hours length. Minutes past, nor did I blink to dust. Lay gently to open, and my arms will raise heavily, Listen, and the breeze will start walking, Memory is in a poet's fingertip, Slip deeply without restrain, Anger is for pain only, Finally, Pick one up, and it's 3-leaved and roundish Hope may not find it--- nothing behind at the grunt of the shade.

Trial, error number 9 'neath the finer doting line.  Above the Kremlin of spire build,  Undo the marches of --I'm crying out my color blind! Don't need the children, now you have cable, the priests are themselves and willie nile & disabled.  Have to remember just 4 things, Lucid Love Lord Luna

On the Spiritual letterhead, Often, time- we find, aroused by chance- an energy inertia, as a transition- more accelerated in base,  for an awaiting concerto. Most fruited through intention. Not quite ripened, let we that were confiding; better the inventor him/herself giving trained aesthetic. On her stratagem, we then elucidate. It's- the more tumult, desire manifests an entirely new stage as a pairing in to equine-dissonance, ultimately prevailing, and beneath a thwarting of onset. In fullness, we find delight so blissful in competence. Merely a contending component. Also, a fore bearing you nearly just forget about. As we grow in light and love seeks her new surroundings, we embrace her then to the edge, faithfully more eloquent. We relax in thinking, because our trust grows so transcendent-- we can breathe. Not just yet, ethos to our surroundings. There are incomplete transitions- and yours seems a bit whack. Might I add, the psyche is so finely noted as to allow even a

If thee Parker Brothers were still here today, They might give you the tell tale symptom of greed in a foreplayed idea of game and then add their second sense: this is the real beginning of cat and mouse in America.

As a torrential downpour picks up the transmissions of acid base, and worms regurgitate their own bodies toward the upper crevasses of pinned hopes, We begin to form, not ever so late, our individual plans, Through adult and backward to wrap a new adventure for the generations ahead, Entrusting the dangers only to the laughter and replenished victories of our fluid conversations, Fluidity on its own, distastes such a renouncement of character and being. What a fling, he would say, as he swats away the incomplete ground and uproariously accounts for the Magistrate in wait, Through to the next, as we whip around blundered 180 degrees of corner and acknowledging the slouched cackling of time's which, we disregard her appropriated, 'woah' Perpetuity within her crisp speed warp, welcoming in a deeper light, she bats merely all 4, Within a clash of warned beauty and  a butterfly room for a waiting list, clasping the thin air in precognitive pleasure ahead, we se

To desire and expect nothing for oneself—and to have profound sympathy for others—is genuine holiness. Saints are a meta-theology of the past? Remember the man & woman beneath who are lifted.

Relational partnerships are quite difficult... Being in tune with a proffering of equality; specifically if two might be more "homgenous" in genetic sequencing- we so tend to err in decisive hand-in-hand discovery and exploration. The beauty of it. Becoming so raw and stripping away untruths L, R, up & down-- why wouldn't we go ahead and make trial... Over a concept of infancy, we have perhaps two motives: to realize, more in universal scope WHO I AM. Or, the easier- WHO ARE WE? Eventual lead: "Can we meet later?" 'Promise.' As though bound by the weakest link and upholding the continuation of strength on physical force o'er expansion. On any level- where we put our intention and intuition becomes the ultimate drive and motive. ... These two, at times, confounding understandings; from an infinite plethora of growth, development, and often of all too trustworthy in disclosure. Synchronizing, what has happened since arrival. We, bec

Stacked on the higher apparati... We find the union of man and cloud- strung together as atom, and playing together through our single divinity. True nature never a barren, rather a whirl.  Balanced and prosaic, the eyes dance at new sight. Tonight we jump, as the light still beholden to the day.  Climbing through to the ether side, golden hues of hydrogen and beryllium, a twinge of Venus. Dining in her atomic hues, the circular gravity and the spiral of expansion resources a new effect. Reaching down to the earth, and offering another bud or arching to the tree for oxygen.  As a woman's breath reaches a ground transplant, she shares the evidence to both. Ah yes, I find the multiverse quite easily today; heavens proffered more.  Where might he have sent? We look to the pink bean or the red leaf, an innocuous seasoning of sweet and kissable.  Enlivened by the wheat and grain, flinging itself to the wormy bird and traveling beetle. I know exactly what to do. Evolution plays it

Through our intentional breath and savory buds constantly retrieving data for our sensorial musings, may we take a moment to love and loathe the tongue.  For all of it's splendor it is the highest note and most formative octave for life and death.  Throughout the day we may experience both of these scapes, from the hearth of our tendons and the loins of our own. My wish is that my love go so far as to take the breath of you away on your dying, present you an instant installment for afterlife and grant you infinite nourishment, unto your fun slide- the tongue & I may wander, but the lust for one another only remits the hesitation of her innumerable advances of architecture. That is, to say we can be our very own creators unto our breath and drawn out through our taste- Beautiful Earth, today you have given me respite in the tidal sequence of your clouds, you have trailed unto my trees and given her a fresh supplement for winter, may the leaves be not bashful in their s

Once upon a time... I believed for awhile, that understanding of mortal- was near infinite. That we couldn't quite stripe through and create our own. That in a world made of infinitive spectrum and blissful psyche, our own love could only be a mere byproduct of our own spaces. But near we go very far and vast, our girth and philosophy are near the undercover- only the keen eye might grasp. But to her ebb and flow we find sheer nature, within all of ourselves; man and woman- child to be and creator.  Within our own bliss we find the very sub-natural and equally amused conversations. Our own thoughts require not that we pay minute attention- but that we allow for our inner water droplets, the massive waters that weigh tons within us. Not to recourse but to provide a need so worthy. Haven't we undoubted our intention and grasped the most fleeting memories we could find? Was that within and without or a wandering and initiative that doubly stacked each other.  We can not spa