... all beautiful spaces grow wild, never-growling non-events, reaching up and all around in silence. Space. They soften around us as the whispers absorb the cotton ball stars, feeling the sun warm them. Softening around our feet like sweet moss. It is nothing into nothing. And we kiss it- a newborn babe.
The visceral cut is clean, and its beauty flows relentless.
1 comment:
Well Rock our Soul In the Bosom of Endless Beauty...just for a bit...
Crystal clean..flowing in 'WORD'!
Mmmm...Thank-You.
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