My skin can hear your colors
From the other end
Of happiness
But the line is folding in a loop
Closing in a circle
And the end is the beginning
Time is tesselating
Unto itself
But we have not the senses
There is no loss
Just continuation
Into the unknown
Relativity delays
The arrival of awareness
Consciousness is slow to form
The cooling of the mold
Takes a great deal more
Hence, the procrastination
Inert and habitual;
Words taking root
In everything
My end and your beginning
Collided into a freshly manifesting
Iteration of existence
The bud becomes
The fruit
A new cycle
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
My skin can hear your colors
From the other end
Of happiness
But the line is folding in a loop
Closing in a circle
And the end is the beginning
Time is tesselating
Unto itself
But we have not the senses
There is no loss
Just continuation
Into the unknown
Relativity delays
The arrival of awareness
Consciousness is slow to form
The cooling of the mold
Takes a great deal more
Hence, the procrastination
Inert and habitual;
Words taking root
In everything
My end and your beginning
Collided into a freshly manifesting
Iteration of existence
The bud becomes
The fruit
A new cycle