In an attempt to attain the creative sphere of somnambulance upon myself
a momentary fluctuation occurs in a weather god of rain.
March.
All we ask is for a kinder treatment (you don't have to like it)
I will sit and listen to the spells you whisper in my ear, coating drums in sweet disturbance, as long as it offers me a chance at a breathing pattern that will help keep me in touch and understood.