Drool

The slender drool that carries love boats in the slow, meanderic but gravity provoked current. To reach the lake of soft relaxation on a European 800 fill power white goose down pillow. And the sails go up and the breath travels the heart sparkles around and warms so whole heartedly that the consideration of cozying up on the shores of this beautiful contentment, is just as rational as deepening the lake.

I’ll Get to Here in a Rhyme

I’ll shark my way into the system of casual beaded motion.

I’ll take the drops from the bottom of the Atlantic ocean

and
I will make fish swallow the universe.

 

I’ll clip my choices on the everlong bend of wire.

I’ll take a match and light the whole fucking thing on fire

and
I will make the clouds blow into the sea.

I’ll soul my self with a thumbtack of sewing.

I’ll take a boat and I’ll do all the rowing,

and
I will land on ground that feels like a steady world of strength and power.