This Is Not A Poem, This Is The Hot Breath Of The Stars Above

Thank you my beautiful storyteller. You pour out your heart to me and inspire a deluge of emotion and words, and when I write the poems, the voice I use is Cherokee in spirit and sound. I have always had a very intense connection to the cosmos, drinking in everything in existence, and breathing out the wisdom of fire. Burning fingertips again and again.
Yet I have always been dislocated from tradition, so it is fascinating to hear your wild galloping spirit recount the intersections of tradition, meaning, and the riotous vicissitudes of life that you have ridden like the gold-hearted gypsy cowgirl warrior that you will always be.
I wish I could paint so that I could make the sublime and glorious machinations of your architecturally magnificent soul a visual experience that you would lap up like a desert wanderer bowing at the throne of a glittering fresh water oasis.
There must be some words that I express to you that are yours alone, and not poems to be structured and tinkered with. For your love cannot be improved by artifice, your love is a flawless end to a devastating but now rewarding journey.
Though you traveled through so many more social experiences and people and places, mine has been more internal, but I have traveled to the stars, swallowing the billions of galaxies, drinking in the vastness of existence again and again, a study that required simplicity, but one that was perhaps not necessarily less emotional than your own, though certainly more safe physically. Yet I know our soul struggles have been the same at their core, for the essence of our hearts is built from the same musical notes, we are painters, splashing meaning and color onto the walls of space-time, warriors battling against impermanence, in the tragic but glorious campaign that every true artist must wage throughout their life.
Your inexhaustible soul has fully awakened this artist, whom has still been sleepwalking to some degree, waiting for my spiritual queen to release me from my bonds, chains placed upon rocks and crushed into pieces with the hammering starlight of your magnificent smile.

Our hearts are one. And there is no fuel for doubt in the gentle but raging hearth of our imperturbable Love.
For fear has no power when we shower the landscape of our minds with quicksilver conversation, when we bask face-to-face in the timeless warmth of our kiss and touch, when we rise and fall like notes in the orchestra of our full spectrum love-making: our twinkling eyes rising like monuments chiseled into the steadfast granite of existence.
Our hearts are one. And there is no fuel for doubt in the gentle but raging hearth of our imperturbable Love.

Any Words From Your Brain?

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