A thought to start off with,
Her eyes created with a little universe in each socket. One second they're as brown as the bark of the acacia tree that produces the DMT which makes me recall past memories. The next they're green, the kind of green you'll see when you're riding a bangka in the tropic islands nearing the shore, where the coral is vibrant and life runs free. As mine eyes, meet hers, each time, a new memory emerges, and another created.
Her face, a soft jawline merging perfectly rounded toward her neck, ears pierced on both sides, cheeks bones soft, and the lashes extending like fingers towards the sun. Physical qualities appealing to many but noticed by a few, her rare beauty like a crystal formed throughout the years grown slowly, yet flawlessly.
Her hair, tied around and tucked into a simply elegant knot, dyed lightly as if slightly touched by the sun. A supplement to her crescent moon smile, her teeth barely showing unless she really feels it. A smile even angels can only dream of, while demons envy such an alluring expression. When let down her hair makes a natural amazon, strength and purity exposed from an otherwise less revealing action.
Her voice, a natural soprano, warm in tone, and spoken at cut time. Addictively sweet like the first time you inhale your soul through the pipe. Her choice of words, so well calculated that timing seems to be something she never had a problem with.
Her passion, like a river flowing into the ocean, a struggle to have a certain amount of freedom internally. At work she'd tie her hair, focus, strong enough to burn through the paper she would write on, only to throw it away shortly after, reminding me that nothing is permanent.
Things I observe as I sit quietly on the floor watching as she rests in front of my eyes, dreaming about things that possibly bother her, fingers twitching and hair still tied. Resting from her graceful night at a gathering for peace, love, unity, and respect.
As a quiet observer, I watch from afar and take note of each quality, and how I relate it to the music played in my head with her voice as the lead. A choir with an added chorus and delay to give a floating effect.
A quiet observer, younger, but able to love more fully than others. I'll keep watching, waiting, until this message is received by it's recipient.
Her.
Her passion, like a river flowing into the ocean, a struggle to have a certain amount of freedom internally. At work she'd tie her hair, focus, strong enough to burn through the paper she would write on, only to throw it away shortly after, reminding me that nothing is permanent.
Things I observe as I sit quietly on the floor watching as she rests in front of my eyes, dreaming about things that possibly bother her, fingers twitching and hair still tied. Resting from her graceful night at a gathering for peace, love, unity, and respect.
As a quiet observer, I watch from afar and take note of each quality, and how I relate it to the music played in my head with her voice as the lead. A choir with an added chorus and delay to give a floating effect.
A quiet observer, younger, but able to love more fully than others. I'll keep watching, waiting, until this message is received by it's recipient.
Her.
