The Rare Perfume, of The Heavens Above

Skin sheds on the long walk back from parts unknown. 

The Subtle detours that mountain our hopes in noon days wind that dances like the sweetest woman's curves across the dunes we hope to bury our bones in. 

Joy purifies out misfit ways, and magnifies the clearest ballroom of open canvas treks that man has known. 

We loosen our collars as bass lines drip on the horizon to the soundtrack of our waning lives out here in the deep. 

Callousness fills out hands but not out hearts as we skip from ends to ends as desert roses kiss us goodnight. 

Aroma of the sky swirls like cinnamon in the open maps of our lives as more skin peels from our faces revealing the parts of that the flames could not touch. 

Bronze peaks through as we look back at the trails of fertility that follows never could we know such richness in our lips, or in our blood. 

Someone is calling as we drip forward the seventy percent water we are made of ens and flows.

Remember when were scared to fly as the days never end, across the world in a lifetime our numbers peak but never fall as shadows dance in the shape of our desires. We keep moving.

Someone has called us, and there is no more night.

Someone is calling and foreknew that we would need to see this end of creation before night. 

Forward our progress.

Endless is our life.