Dear closet zen
our jukebox spirit guide, with golden companion,
we have ascertained light
and voluptuous creeds from rich men,
but there aren't nearly enough bridges
for where we are heading.
Syntropy moves everything, bathed in vibrant colour melt downs,
rays of saccharine elucidation, warms all fluid motions, screw the idea of unattainable moon!
For we resemble these foundations, warmed like yolk, and each of these thoughts
become a transient colour that retains the fish-like quality of you.
Ceaselessly we walk through seeds
of shifting social membranes,
where speech between dogs with gradients and humans with fades remains until,
we find our flowery Neptune gaze,
esoterically placed
within platonic leaves.
We welcome you, to our infantile progression.
Become submerged within your thought canal with flashes of brilliant garden mothers and
mist arises until delightful birds read literature in fantastic postcard realism
And Love!
Love is no more than symbolised metallic bursts
swathes of airbrushed waterfalls becoming punctual
and drinkable
like adjectives of pure thirst.
We laugh so hard we see in spiral colours.
Everything is instantly charming.
Everything
ridiculous.
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