I loved the honesty.
Netflix, chill then what.
I'd love to unfold you all night.
A reiteration of
Laying on our backs
No longer hesitant.
No longer ignorant.
Transcending the labels we both  keep inside.
Suggesting that there's more to appearance.
Standing in the chills of liberation.
We soon were caught in
Organized noise
Lost in flims of smoke
All night long.
Shall we roll another or two.
If I told you right then whose wrong,
Two separate interpretations.
Each to send tremors of truth of what's really happened.
Netflix waits in response
Mahogany fingertips.
Intellectual stimulation.
**** I forgot errythang I was supposed to be doing.
I concur wholeheartedly with this unexpected attraction.
The television a distraction.
Current circumstances.
Thinking about you
Open invitation

When I walked in I didn't know what to expect.
Each room highlighted in light.
A oral tradition. To make ourselves at home upon request.
In reciprocation we do.
The rooms we gather in, the ones we walk past.
The objects we fill to take up space.
The rooms a clear reflection of Spring.
The molding painted white.
I was told that some rooms are not to be visited.
Everything has it's season and this isn't one of them.
Placing blame on the rooms.
I want to explore them most I said.
The ones that go unseen.
The things we rarely shine light to.
The places films of dust continue to grow.
These are some of the best places to go.
The beauty of things we walk past day to day.
The smile unknown destinations can bring.
Cultivating the ideas we keep cluttered.
Gasping for air.
These are the rooms I want to explore most.
The parts of you that you strictly keep to yourself.
Only when you are comfortable to share these rooms with me.
To kiss the floor with our feet.
To dwell in the past staring into our future.
We are the pendulums trapped inside the clock

When you have nothing left.

It is imminent that you create your own peace of mind with every direction.
Take some time out and evaluate.
Reevaluate.
Make peace with the things which we control, and the things we cannot.
In time it replenishes the pieces of ourselves that we constantly give without putting back which we give Placing ourselves as priority over any given situation.
It's not so much the appearance of how these things work.
But the inner workings.
There's much strength there.
In finding the key to abundance

And Like that.
I had this overwhelming urge.
I don't know what came over me.
I asked God is this the route I should take.
This habit of association.
To **** out what may seem to be selfish.
Time is of the essence.
This illusion of what is definite or what may not be.
Certainly this proclamation arrived out of nowhere.
Again I asked.
Notating my lack of patience.
I found the choir of mind without direction.
They stood and hummed.
Some in que.
Others were all over the place.
Without a podium or overreaction to the problem.

Amen, acknowledging your grace.
This aura highlighting sudden fixation.
I sought guidence.
Leaving the trail Whince I came.
I felt pain in my rib.
A spiritual curriculum decided by what's missing.
Again I asked.
More left to the imagination
A reiteration of urge.
The potency of silence.
Engaged by a look.
I understood what the choir was saying

I've never been very good at listening.
I imagine that I resonate with a piece of you that reminds me of the same piece of me.
When I come face to face with this piece.
I realize that not everything can be changed.
That's what makes it important.
Otherwise the urge to speak would never come.
Realizing this occurrence,
It becomes familar.
Not once does fear strike.
All in all there's no interruption.
The well being of ourselves.
The very things that no matter what, we tend to recognize.
No matter the grief.
And like that very thing I become a child.
Not realizing the meaning of being alive.
Within these moments I turn to you for guidance.
I look up and realize a stubbornness.

I admit.
I've never been good at listening.
Although I vocalize the feeling.
We go through extreme measures when the appearance isn't quite right.
In light of innocence I am struck time and time again.
The lashings of what I'll always believe.
It becomes excessive.
Coming into contact with this same piece of me that I have found in you.
That no matter the argument.
We understand that there is an accord that cannot be ignored.
We live in a state where this paradox becomes conscious.
Separating what is right, as well as wrong.
At times we may disagree, proving in these times that it takes growth to be heard.
And I have heard you this whole time.
This piece of me that has fallen in love with every piece of you.
Both stubborn and impatient

Nothing is ever time wasted,
just the interlude to the rest of the album. Soon it becomes nostalgia. To think you almost pressed the skip button..
It's all about trying new things.
Slowing were briding the gap.
Looping untold tales of blues and jazz into our samples.
The things considered classical.
Instant vintage.
The things we keep hidden in headphones,
The venerability of hype.
It's always about the crowd.
Afraid to digest something different.
This was the first time I met her.
At first I laughed,
Reaction that I faced my own ignorance.
Listening again finding purpose.
Not knowing that we'd come to spend the rest of our lives together.
All three minutes and forty five seconds.
I was dishonest.
Not revealing anything real about myself until I heard it for the first time.
The first time she sung.
Music.
This wasn't an image to be upheld in front of others.
Or the gossip type spread circle to circle.
I was never exposed to this.
Skimming the top layer ready to press next.
Too far caught in the slander that first impressions can give.
History often repeats itself but this wasn't the case.
This was wholeheartedly the epitome of how she effected me.
The rhythm of how she moved.
How she spoke.
Like that I matured almost instantly.
She became my biggest influence.
A two way street that bridged the gap of my own ignorance.
After time I began to leave my headphones on the dresser.
We were amplified.
She'd follow me everywhere just as I'd follow her.
Soon it caught on to the masses.
Each and every thought became a publicist of what she'd recite over and over again.
A parental advisory issued with every cover.
Finding the one became a catalog.
Stumbling back to the first interlude all over again.
The copyright not for sell

We've torn down buildings, and built new ones
Yet we have no foundation.
We are illiterate to what we truly feel and breathe unless,
It is seen else where first.
It too is a reality that we've created.
This feeling that can only be described in Braille.
We too are restricted.
These bumps that go unnoticed.
The mumps in the crevice we band aid until it's too late.
We continue to tear down these fortresses of ourselves.
What concerns most is that I see myself in you.
The same love and laugh that become the building blocks that haults the storm.
Yet we reject each other due to the mentality of our environment.
With lack of understanding,
We fail to embrace choosing the cause and effect of all differential.
We seek to destroy forgetting what's important.
We work against each other doing more damage that good.
We need each other to further emancipation.
To build one another once this storm reaches peak.
As simple as it sounds it becomes more complex.
To build a new building on top shakey ground.
Everything must be cleared out.
The participation of presence