we are flowing, growing. like flowers
twiddling away the syrupy hours
feverantly running, we
have nothing but our breath
free from gravity;
we are tripping, skipping. through parking lots
weary of these individual thoughts
syrup flowing over pages
times is nothing, we are ageless
conscious-less, in bliss. like serenity
but full with unearthly energy
we are chances, advances. like wild fire
running through night without tire
we are harmony, calm sea. potential
unworried by what's consequential
we are youth, love. surreality