Tonight I am sitting around the fire that I lit
by burning all those poems I wrote for you.
And I swear it looks so beautiful as the flames
touch the stars just like I thought
my words would touch your heart.

As dark as eyes closed, clear broad day light brought into sight within, clairvoyance.

The future is time standing still, here and now in eternal union. soulful Sheer romance.

This wouldn't be written if I say I escaped my senses. As principle, mind is always vibrating.  
  
There's an experience that's beyond any form of expression, life stays amazing.

I am not just spiritual I am spirit, On an odyssey going nowhere but point zero.

All these myriad layers of consciousness are universal truths that joins people.

A droplet on a grass blade that only existed for my observation was Godly.

Still, my eyes were closed. My mental plane senses heightened. Darkness is holy.

And so I found myself. I busk in the glory of the gods, I am perfect with my flaws.

I am not made to feel guilty about my natural traits that aren't subject to laws.

I am home, announcing my arrival with loud silence that of a sudden winter's burst.

Awake, aware, conscious, connected, natural, transcendental, God. Innerverse.

Nostalgic is the place!

The smell of burnt hair
The rumbling silence
The carpeted floor
The taste of dust
The furniture, all in plum

It is the forgotten place!**

Where she used to write
Where she used to weep
Where they revealed their cores
And where they uttered their goodbyes

Slap da bass right up mon.
Slap da bass down low now.
Bump ya sweet ting a little closa.
I just wanna get to know ya.

Gettin' all blem on ya vibes.
You gettin' knocked down by mine.
Bend down, turn 'round, back it up right.
Wanna puff what I'm puffin' all night.

Me nose burns with wit smoke.
Me body's empty, waiting for ya touch.
The bass is slammin' in me ear drums.
The bass slappin' makes me face numb.

Beat poundin' as I slide over
Boombastic rydems like no otha'.
You da noicest ting I ever did see.
Lemme take ya home. Slap da bass wit me.

*Slap it riiiiiight up

When the woman you love is a poet,
It is hard to tell the difference,
between a poem and a conversation,
When the woman you love is a poet,
She will never speak her thoughts,
I have to decipher the lines,
When the woman you love is a poet,
It's hard not to be ensnared by the words,
And remember that the notes she sings,
Were not all for you