Our blood is golden wine,
I’ve been told to try sweeter blends.
My cups lay in my favorite number but the unknown in my shadow still stand.
Inside could be my salty songs for a memory that never ends.
I pull you down underwater to see just how far you can be from the sand.
Eyes wide open to the flame of your being;
It’s confidence and conflict that drag me out of my stalemate.
A torch to gaze upon something I know to be worth seeing.
Whether together or apart we still crawl the same trail to feel and be something great.
The oleander and roses course through our veins like the wax that holds together our armor.
We’re meant to grow our vines past the heavens.
That’s the place that holds serenity and storms that you never have to barter;
Where admiration never leads to lessons.
To be strong through our valleys when we feel like we’ll never climb back up.
In this garden is the place where I can accept your oceans dichotomy.
No matter how many wands, no matter how many cups;
I’ll accept it completely but of course cautiously.
All the eyes can see all the burning in my hands.
What could be sparked by nature feels easier to light on my own.
Is it gasoline I smell on demand
Or has the apple already grown?
5 of cups, 8 of wands, 7 of wands, the magician, the knight of swords. He lives in sunsets.
