“A Place where noone can find me”

A place where no one can find me,

Where stumbling is dancing,

The wound of my sighs are symphonies

Inside-outside

My perspective recording visually

To finally be aware

Of myself.

I am always riding clouds!

These clouds are metaphorical parodies,

I am not riding clouds.

(but only because words do not have the same infinite descriptions that body & movement manifest)

I am unlimited. A am wearing a cloak of some sort. This velvety layering of the warmest linens stuffed with goose down is weighing me at least twenty pounds heavier.

We're playing beat around the bush

We're laying the bricks lower than planned

We're implying too much, and giggling (wake)in it's breeze

We're rubbing fur backwards with the sweetest of ease

When it got down to the nitty gritty

I was just as easy and sweet as the ripest

I wasn't teasing the bait with the slightest

But I was building a nest whilst reaffirming and unbiased

My ears are swollen and heavey

Everything that comes through is muffled by a wirr

of appliances

and lights.

But I'm nibbling on pieces of Dialect

And I thawed out these excavations

And They weren't the findings I'd expect

but merely his quietest meditations

A room where no one can find me

But my love's sweetest bindings

Revealed for the purpose of fine things

Exploited for the nature of timing

And the darkest rooms,

with the warmest glow,

and the quiet tug

this is a place we know

We've been before

We'll all  go again,

but the honest warmth

between honest hands

Sugar Salty sweet, the mess of Am I complete?

Daylight hits me again, and I am caught unaware for the last time.

I am waking up and singing my dreams. I am dancing with manequins.

I am looking at the sky beneath the dew of my nighttime remenents.

Every Cloud hangs with a laugh, and the grin of street sign has great presidence

If we were dreaming, she says, like a stallion we'd have a glorious saunter

If Dreams were fleeting, she says still off key, they'd have flown off with me

The one thing left, we all had to say was less consistent and more for play

We said it with all of our momentum anyway. Make no plans for life Today.

We are a rhythm, we are a wind, we are a weapon, of body and sea

We are a tide pool, we are a river, we are the bodies drifting the hills

We are the memories, melodies, the moments and and every moment before.

We're the conception of what we live for, we are the history and lore.

.

In the epic beginning of the awesome world, there were my fingers around my belly curled. And this was only the beginning of my world, but how it mattered, and now it’s important still.

The Wild extrication, of my heart from my sexy nation was a standing birth into a field of Echinacea and lavender. We were one, then I was separate from her.

 It was like a myth in totality, but we held on to the quaint reality.

In the epic beginning of the ending, the room was rotating, and the world was spinning, and continually encountering nothing fully, but Always leaving just as were coming.

So there I found myself brand new, though older than before when neither her nor I were two.

Separately, but wholly complete she held my head to her wise heartbeat, and it echoed onto my little drums, and taught me the first rhythm as I tapped my thumbs.

In the epic beginning I twisted dandelions into my hair, as her mother had taught her to be dainty and fair.

 She sewed anything wild onto everything tame, any gown that she wore was just another arts’ frame.

So explicitly labeled instead of plainly relieved of any author named plotline I ran faster in weeds, as they begged no direction, and only swayed for the wind, as the world spun in the direction of the beginning of the end.