Oh, who shall cater the hand to which these flowers grow? one man? two men? three men? four? gravely ill in my mind sunken with no hope, I seek colors inside my body knowing the depression will eventually cease to grow,

Flower beds of seeds sprouted from lifetimes ago, pink petals ombréd into yellow releasing sweet pheromones that the wilderness itself would yield and respond to, the pastel color-scheme shimmers a silent bright hue through the star-light of her planet disbanding all clouds into the emptiness of the atmosphere, overshadowing a forrest of melancholic greens to sing a song of innocence while knowing their origins of humility in a kingdom of malevolence designed to destroy such purity, pistils square root an equation of love from the ovary down to the stem, coiled in formation with the vascular plants of the wilderness to create this magical sequence of geometric math and rhythm for the wandering pupil pondering the exactness of such helixes, xn= xn-1 + xn-2, two doors down adding to the infinite sum of harmonic potential,

And here I found the solution to tighten all loose screws in the mind creating a foundation of peace, for neglected neurotransmitters who let all their chemicals and hormones roam wild and ‘free’, caged in a crustacean of sickness ebbing through waves of rapid firing — receptive to the stimulus charge of a flower’s magnetism generated with every soft hello complimented with gentle touching, the somatosensory system created to be aware of its own perception of perceiving without thinking of what it’s feeling, deep in the moody grays of introspective consumption through the darkness blanketing this forrest only to be flattered by the contrast of purity’s form of newness, feminine pastel colors weaving over deep masculine mutations with grace, matching each other in sound with mutual pace.

[to be continued]