and the words flow, clarification for the incapable communication upon parting...
There is a hole in her hand, a hollow that shines directly beyond every attempt to shield the surface. A spade rests atop her breasts, exposing the protective cavity that radiates youthful purity. Transparency reveals addiction's fate. Beating with strong spirit yet simultaneous exhausting strength in hopes of regenerating vitality. His soul was not her consummation, rather she toasts to rebirth of circulation. With maiden hands their courtship continues. Blood seeps over the queen of hearts, a glimpse of her cards is avow.
The ultimate test is our own self. The mind looses control, the valleys turn into mountains. With passion, we shall rise to utopia simultaneously traveling equal measures.
Create and sing from within. Our manifestations will prevail.
I'm listening to Rebecka Törnqvist.
It's the wee hours in the morning of February 18, 2009.
I feel free, relieved and optimistic. I am alive.
I am in love with Francis, the world that will be unveiled as we levitate united.
within fingertips' grasps...
