Your angelic voice,
it just lays down on my ear drums like the finest silk made straight from the cocoon of our cultivating love.
of course, it's a raw, earthy cocoon, dropped several times off the tree of life.
but that was our origin. so why dispute it?
i brush off the dirt on my side of the cocoon but yours has been left stained from the past.
if a divine deity looked down upon our enveloped love, they would see a great divide.
one pure.
one polluted.
one yearns.
one loses.
one in the same, both feelings are identical, but for other passions.
so. i sit here.
trying my best to clean your side of the cocoon as i displace you to my side and you ***** up mine.
a forever cycle of uncleanliness and a weird form of cat and mouse.