Lost in translation between thought and pen describing inspiration as a legend to a map that is as pretty as a picture.
Cryptic mirages of a glossy forest, I have not found my way through their verbal jungle.
A delicious tease, and run-on:
Free of gravity, soaking in the stillness of echoes as water cloaks the skins' openings covering the portals between the external and internal world - the sensation of being a part of something else and a heart beating to a current directed by something else is the heat.
Copyright PomonaLIFE 2012, all rights reserved.