why do they live, what plots do they believe, everyday, yet again, walking down the same path, to the volatile inner being is a wrath. yet life is but a surreal wave, To be rode on ecstatically, not being to pattern , a slave.
Here i lay, bound in an adamant vial An aesthetic fragrance satiating enough circumscribed by royal attire Princely walls, buggies and puppets Longing to aspirate through the vial To diffuse and be volatile For obscured will be the royalty And eternalised exists conscious volatility
Lured was i, the fragrance itself Encountered when did i her pretty self Beauty to which holy moon did hail Graciously humble so sweet a frail Within the vial i lay enchanted Simplicity, the world took for granted Loved her did i deeper than any trench Thirst of expressing love i was to quench.
Gaining her vicinity meant captivity of mine Thwart would it my pious purpose Of escaping to volatility Unbound, unearthed, uncapped From something to nothing Yet be omnipresent Be sensed by her as an aroma pure Caress her with utmost detail Though i may possess her not Nor may i keep her bound Yet closest to her would i be Expression of true love have i found