His palm was my soil
I was his butterfly, on my admirer’s hand
I just cherished how he handled me
His words, lack of
Every per centum
All the negative space
He was the seed that planted me

∆ Neural Alchemist | Self-mythologist ∆
His palm was my soil
I was his butterfly, on my admirer’s hand
I just cherished how he handled me
His words, lack of
Every per centum
All the negative space
He was the seed that planted me
Around you I tread gently
I treat you with kid gloves
I rock you to sleep
Thinking little nothings
Riding the wave
I try to behave
My heart is your slave
She prefers it that way
There’s an unspoken rule here
As we tangle and toss my dear
I won’t speak if you don’t
You have my word
The window is broken but you open it still
Creating mass and spaces to sit on
To worry about; challenge freedom in
You help me speak and understand nothing
There is no right or wrong with you

“You were made of satin layers and old linen sheets.. How ripe to meet you in heaven’s skies.” 🔸🕯️✴️🕯️🔸
I love being a women.
Everything about it.
Blood, burnings and birth.
Airy, soft.
Pure fire and magic.

One hundred lo lee years
is a trusted risk
diminished too quick
teasing taste of bliss