If I hadn’t lost my mind I wouldn’t have noticed a voice like tyres grazing gravel igniting embers where I’d have no choice, but to brush pale fingertips against desiccate and patched up lips, with no moon past dusk the lust to combust overtook Eden.
We harvest crops not to deal with less but, to etch back the old and dead to make room for new and exciting things. I’ve recently pruned my forest of poisonous sap and all that blooms now is beauty and fresh foliage i wouldn’t give up for anything. You all know who you are, your humble nature and selflessness is out of this world. Much love to you.