Nothing faint, nothing close,
Scouring every inch to find the same,
Just lost Dreary, burdened souls,
But the bellow stoked the fire again,
Hot blood from the furnace,
A raging force it flows, met to cool and steam,
Just swimming, swirling, lost in you,
Tingling sensation, dripping wet the taste of sweet fruit,
Clenching and tossing,
Squirm and scream, all at once,
Muddied Earth and Water, all its own being,
Steamy, clouded foggy mist,
The hott and the cool, an unshapen vacillating force,
Wavering, yet both taint from the bond,
Thrown from all sense of predetermined course,
But the bellow stokes...
Breathes life and love,
No sense or order, nor reason or cause,
Still, the fire refines the blend, forging a heavy footing,
New creation, no diamond's worth could rival,
Or possession any man has had,
But purer still, what awaits our devotion,
When the good out weighs the bad
