In a world of language,
all nouns have a bounty on them
and live in the past,
while all verbs
invite me to whimsy as journey.
My hope upon us meeting
is that I don’t take from you,
any understanding.
For understanding maybe custodial
and lacks the intimacy of trust
that I would yearn for from within.
May your words not be instructions,
but more so,
inviting edges of immersions,
emissaries, as it were,
slightly adjunct
to the interface of our auras.
May the harmonics of our beings
find a means into our sensory range.
And provide for us,
expansions as a permissions
for our now to express
through the oneness of us.
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