Like wax that doesn't melt. Under no circumstance will I loose my disposition, after heat is applied. Building a box I can't be in the box if I made it. If Acquiring knowledge isn't cool. I'm building a box for books so I guess I'll never fit in. While my flame continues to burn I'll stand alone and lighthouse you here.

Head on my chest as she's dancing to the cadence of my heart. The colors of our auras wraps us In a blanket. The euphonious sounds of your moans replay in my head. The act of our bodies crashing still vibrating your hips. Gravity dessolves along with lights from clapping. Transition supine your spine becomes the mattress. Coitus embraced you as we cascaded into a golden basin.

often times I find myself thinking we've learned to speak the ambivalent language of love well to fluently. Too much is expected of integrity so it left. The dejection of our hearts leaves us with a watered down version of ourselves loathing on sight our perspective is just an unhealthy juxtaposition of a realm and reality. Fighting for what we thought was right can lead to fighting on the wrong side.

like the way your brain works when you commit the wrong hand shkae. My ability to require the need to respect you is irrelevant. rhymes don't matter if the concept doesn't solve the problem. rhetorical questions make no impact. We idolize things and narcotically twist them just to boosts or sense of ignorant cognition. generations passed down only to be cut in half. Sizing up improvisation, we panic and anything is released.

In a weary series of redundant repetition.
I feel less of a hearty player, but more of
a lethargic field whos reapings are to far from succession.
Evolution happened somewhere along the
way.
Somewhere along the way we forgot there's nothing more powerful than the verbosity of our name.

A dress of smiles covered her face
as the curiosity of the taste of her
lips crossed mine.
As love lingured and the ambiance
changed from dark to light.
Rays played hop scotch on her skin
as I fell in an event horizon.

A white dove turned black yesterday
and I wonder if peace can be a piece of me. If my  body gets broken down into segments and thrown in a body I'm pretty sure I'll come out the soil of my mothers land.
Less recarnation but more invention.
Ideas thought about for a long time only to be released by another mind.
See thats the problem we hold on the tightest to things that carry less weight. See Gravity  can be a real *****,
but I love the way it holds my mind in place.

looking at the world through rose colored lenses. I live a life not understood by many. I'm an old man in a young body so my geriatric ways aren't palpable to today's generation, so nobody feels me. wandering why love is absent in a sick world and love is the medicine. Complex and embedded in the soil of my people skin. we're not "dark" we're "deep". Prevalent roots will travel back to show we were here first. Banks will trace back to show we didn't get paid. My blueprint is made potent by blue blood from within. I challenge things not dared, see I'm an activist. Beliefs of retrogression saving the day. Blue blood is my blueprint, but now it's read because you see it. See I bleed passion. you can read when your tired if you understand then that means you derived from origins like me.

Homes don't grow where I'm from
they only stand stagnant waiting for one to deconstruct a building process.
Limbs leave family trees way before fall happens. It's only a matter of time before one becomes familiar with "**** happens".
Indulged in decency far fetch becomes close Morals become like unread books.
Back-hand to reality some people get it.
Men will hit everything around, before hitting their target so a bulls eye is more like scolded ones golden tongues couldn't fix.
Pictures catch more than a moment
Pictures don't hang anymore the walls are gone. Houses look more like tornadoes  so prepare for hail. Aftermath can make a better beginning. Black looks darker in the light. In the dark your eyes will adjust so black is the new norm.
Accustomed to a ****** up custom where an abandoned home.
no painted walls, a brick mailbox, and a broken garage.