Most nights you'll find me swinging in the hammock of the moon, sipping the night black, a few stars as sugar cubes.

The sweet majesty of your cosmic rhythm, keeps the galaxy’s feet dancing to the beat of your transcendent individualism.

7.7 Billion people in this corner of the universe, walking through the mansion of mother earth, and not one of them can open the blinds and peek through the doors of perception which are the windows of your majestic eyes. Just think about what an enormous gift that shit really is.

Sometimes the universe uses ridicule as a tool to turn you into a titan and tighten up all your loose screws.

Cloaked in the most valuable invisibilities, she’s a seamstress wearing knitted concepts of genius fitted like the elegant dress of a dazzling princess. Yet, no matter how lofty, the messages of her precious lips always land softly with her ability to keep kissing me with the sweetest simplicities.

No blanks. The universe makes love to my mind and gives birth to poetry every single time.

Sometimes you get so jazzed on the moment you can actually hear the universe sing, as you swing from life’s high notes and hit the low notes equally, improvising artistically without missing a beat or hanging on like a leech, leaving each passing moment to zone in on the texture of the next melodic tones life continually brings‬.

We light up around anyone who makes us feel screwed in, to the universe.

Some days punch us in the gut so hard it seems we can feel the whole universe gasp with despair.