as the music seeps deeper in the recesses of my neuronic pathways pathways like the water of the first rain in the hungry earth i rejoice the feeling of being alive

Does it make senseTo own one's desiresAnd hold you inMy arms, closed andWarm like a phospheneMemorised, drunk and deadLooking in your eyes,Trying to make senseOf the patterns ofLife with what youHave to judge and classifySensual emotions, lettingGo the anarchic...

Everyone writes poetry I used to try too Till the day I saw The sad and the good The sublime, the trippy Unlike anything I had seen From that day I have lost My ability to create a rhyme Everything that seemed mundane Suddenly seems so sublime