Fall away into sweeter dreams, where tears are but the morning dew escaping the sun.

Sleep in fields of abundant ecstacy, where love is melody.

Dream of memories mirroring     mesmerising scenes. Where plants      dance to the rhythm of the wind.
Elation being the theme.

Who knows if it’s easier to breathe through your mouth or through your nose
Through the nose I smell your sweet scent
I can memorize the sweet, trace my fingers through the depths of your collar bones
Follow your heartbeat with the tapping of my fingers on your chest
Through the mouth I can breathe you in
Your kiss is more intoxicating than any liquor I've ever remembered tasting
I find myself craving you in moments where I know you won't be there
Who knows if it's easier to breathe through your mouth or through your nose
With you, it does not matter
Not that it ever really did

.....I will smother you with love.    
hang you with pride riddle your life
           with with bullets of art.

   I will drown you in bliss. Burry
you in everlasting kisses and throw  
         you into the well of your
                          wishes.

              At the end I will reap
    you with hope and **** you with
                 joy as you rejoice.

The spark of passion ignites the heart, until it is engulfed in a conflagration of notions, as curiosity triumphs over caution.

The seed of wisdom, planted in fields of knowledge, is cultivated and refined in kingdoms of intellect to innovate speeches of freedom.

Blisters in sweaty palms, rubbing against the pen, as it drifts between the paths of future and past, where hope is met and joy is felt.

Consumed by epiphanies, the heart-beat is felt by trembling hands, squeezing the pen for inspiration, to bewilder imaginations, giving birth to new perceptions.

We are young men buried in books
Shoveling words every day
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Ours minds drained deep in the pools
Of knowledge. So they say
We are young men buried in books.

We find ourselves caught in hooks
Of wisdom seekers shall we pray?
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Exhausted, some will turn into crooks
While we proudly remain grey
We are young men buried in books.

We bear fruit of hope from the roots
Of pain so follow the rules we lay
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Are we zombies in schools?
In our paths we never stray.
We are young men buried in books
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Built on a foundation of wormwood
Cause Absinthe makes the heart grow ... Blonder

Oops, having one of those moments
But isn't that sexist, Redler?
Yea, if you believe in duality
And I'm Dogmatica to an end
My end is Anisotropica
I got there through Riparia
And the Bidirectional Reflectance Distribution Function
BRDF for short
Basically, seeing all sides independent of illumination source
And, of course, interdependent of POV

Okely Dokely

Peas out

And care rotz