The Genesis of Sin Was Impatience

Even though the miscommunication from conflicting views create these battles between us. Lord knows I still love the girl…

I’m letting her in, slowly, ******* myself, naked, freeing myself of sin. 
But, back in the Garden of Edin, she told me to swallow my apple, Adam. For I am not man but I sure as hell would not mind playing both roles for My Eve.
We are attempting to take our time to bare these fruits; for you and I have much patience to learn from in terms of creation and growth.

The Genesis of Sin Was Impatience.

We trust to see intuitively, even so guiding us to panic. Recommended by most to take a hit of that dope, love, the relaxation to vibrate our physical form but we’ve got this static connection between us, that I yearn to break so very soon and maybe forever.
It takes me awhile to let in, *** I can give but I cannot take love. 
My views are misconstrued but I believe that you are the prototype and are able to break my cycles that I seemingly have found comfort in.

The love you have in store has me on the edge of my seat because I can taste it, it, its on the tip of my tongue.
M How deep and how wide your love can be. And it’s so genuine and sweet like the first mango of Summer, or better yet your smile…
Fulfilling and Juicy at most.
Dripping down my chin.
I lick. I chew. I swallow. Whole...
You.I would love to.

Be patient with me and I will be patient with you, because the Genesis of sin was impatience.

Roots grow from within you, planting me in love.

You don't completely know who you are; quite frankly I don't either.
Yet love is where
my mind takes me.
Making me wonder
if love is not knowing
of the unknown...
Is that where you are?
the unknown?
an alchemical entity,
an endless cosmo
an introspective meditation; reverberations vibrating our physical form as we combine souls..
    Then
    i ponder
                      you
then
I ponder
                       me...
and suddenly...
I find myself submerged in you
not knowing how to swim.

It took me one sleepless night of writing
poems about you 
poems about us
of quietly suffering under the sheets of my bed
of letting the darkness around me enter
of letting desire consume my head.

It took me one sleepless night of writing
to promise I'll always put myself first
to hold my own hand
to lift myself up 
when I'm at my worst.

Because darling, you may have the most tender fingers
But who got me out of the sheets today?
It was myself
because I'm here alone
and you are so many miles          a w a y.

She invested much of her time into something that, in the end, proved to be worthless and a waste of time

She didn’t know where, but she could feel herself moving away from anything that could be beneficial towards her.

She allowed her uncertainty to grasp ahold of her.

Discouraged as she was, whenever she sought, she was disappointed with what she had found.

She feels herself becoming as idle as the worn-out people she loathes.

She doesn’t know what to believe. The external world has a way of disguising too well inner turmoil.

Is it even there?

Activating the root;

over my loving overgrowth

the roots grasp ahold of me

configuring sounds from

timeless throats

into our auric field;

You are closing your eyes

to see, intuitively;

Meanwhile...

I am attempting to understand

the complexity of our enlightenment,

radiating for interconnected

oneness..