psychicemotus

that potion inside the miasma presents alone-ness ....
equipped with breathtaking natural logarithms
that never fake the funk
and your chasms swirl on all sides beside the high divide
left intoxicated from pre-determined virtue
soft shell - round palette - the palace has risen an inch
those soft shells calm what you read on my palm
.... with sounds of broken leaves
lifeline compositions twist for all the right reasons
.... might just delve past these last sacred modest innuendos
basking and asking at the sky's injection of abstract binary order
.... one too many octaves later all fixed up symbiotically
charter member of uncharted slumber
real close now to the intersection of energy ..
just a few steps away from frequency|||||||||
plummeting from the summit of euclid's void