Just an illusion, just an illusion
which is what was said in a translucent, gradual lucidity,
controlled and upheld lightly fluttering in all delicate directions, just like a liveliness itself.
Boxes dissolving energetic flows of delicacy, the loveliness of what we rejuvinate,
individual facets and shared facilities tucked deep away.
Revision under a cloakof the night and day of the fabricated rippled repitition,
ofa loss of something to be sought.
Rejuvinate me forth through your flow and spirit tubes, rushing into a vessel of fleshy vestibule of humanity’s form,
withstanding as me.
I wish to be as lively and organic and breathing as you again, as it all is to be
between my mind and yours and all,
With the nerves of my experienced touch, abound with point particles, a spark of negative charge,
only that invigorating much that encased skin can presently experience at this given box flickering time.
The illusions, and disillusionals of my penchant, all tumbling over your emerald crystal blades and moments and strifes
© Copyright 2016 pinklunarcurvature. All rights reserved.
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