Her shoulder ***** open to the sun reveals the long road to warmer sands, where her heart beats the waves in the ocean, as the bass through boards on her holy dance floor, private, secluded. Her trim of green smells of a sweet musk, patchouli, of old cinnamon I fill my lungs I pretend that she's smoke, invites and then guides my journey toward her sacred equator.
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On the run, the run, on the run There's a place to which I'd like to travel But I've been there before THAT'S HOW I GOT THIS WAY BY HAVING HAPPINESS actualized and two heavy hands to wipe it all away Disintegrate, disintegrate On the run, the run, on the run Invitation is one thing -- I don't deserve The want is with me the heart is pure
This spirit, though still broken from whatever time before today.