I Heald a mountain up my sleeve. I heald a landslide by my chest, the crystalline glaiciour is cracked and torn between my thighs, it makes me race in my mind, how can I hold back the sands of time?
They flow like some fine wine, from a deeper viewpoint, below this tame mind. Insured with bitterness and a cool dew point, it drops down my thighs.
Stonewalling will only prolong the natural movements of the undercurrents crust. As new soil is laid high, better than fresh air discharged from the icey twine.
Bittersweet the mountain lay betwixt my feet, slowly sliding to my calf's, there will be no more mountain musk to mimic the sherpers trust, that it is a must to insue, the rocky deluge flows with little behest.
Mountain moves through the monsoon and the gravity pulling luna surface of our very moon. It orbits in circular motion, tearing the crust in two, making new movements that coincide with me & you.
The mountain of cobblestone, arises from the ashes, the fine powder chalk shows the way we once climbed, rippling down like a organic wave of motion, hot liquid crystal, crying out the steeple.
For no other reason I could have forseen, this hot array of earth, lays pebbles in the bay. When the water reclaims, the mountain substains. Water carves stone, making it as my own.
©thegizz211
T