Love in Slow-Mo

Slithering with fluid hues rubbing the concrete with stripes of glee, my wild love accepts cold wetness in favor of warm storms in regions of closure.

The sky is a basin of languages when the silent walks into untold tales of speed and light breed wonder in the cyclone of thunderous confusion.

A foxtail whipped in action with flighty fur caught through matching branches.



Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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