Nothing more, nothing less than the seed growing in the ceramic ***, than the serendipity of stumbling upon people made of sunrays and stardust, than the potential for growing, than the potential of decay. I'm nothing more nor nothing less than potential for love and hate, for creation and destruction. Insignificant and small. Important and huge. I am everything and nothing of major importance. I am somehow miraculously in the most mundane sense me. Happy birthday indeed.
Loner of the planet Where dreams give way to musing, Flemditation and Jarvoy, Living with Jhello made of peppers, hot, Loons scouring cobbled city streets Frankenfood Well treated with modelparse wine, Reflecserve chortling along in Hollogramorphing phenoflutes; Plan to watch a mockumentary, broken by the doorbell - A fairy telegram: Invite to brunch From Trolly, Best friend, the only, One to teach me How to use my spork. Glad to lose the smog of this morn, I dress-up cheching the mirror: Great a fit of my suithalf.
Portmanteau Poem written at request, a challenge taken for practice and a little fun.