As we sat there on the sage rug, silence was born from the mother of fear. All the things I wanted to say to you, But I didn’t know how to steer.  

the thing she missed the most was the intermittent sleep state. when their souls were soft from dreaming and he pulled her in closer so she languidly lilted into his skin.

We descended from the sky; children of the stars. Compound masses of fire. Inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon. We breathe. We feed each other light and warmth. So remember where you came from. Be the star you are.  

Those that were born on land were known to fear the salty temptress – little did they know, they were waterproof!

She felt like she was standing on a precipice, looking down at the chasm below, knowing the fall wouldn’t kill her. That she would in fact find her wings. She would soar.

They, alike the soft white foam of a wave, spill into places you didn’t know to exist, places you didn’t know to be empty, until they were full.  

Each time we entered that fatal dance our souls would flatten, each breath, beaten down with a baton. because all that remained was the slavery to a pattern, and the marks the shackles left, alike the rings of Saturn.

we’re all on a path, it’s deeper than the kitchen sink, it’s more like a bath.