The Rushing of Sound
Sit here with me and listen to the water:
water rushing past us, cold, rippling through our stoned existence,
balancing ever so carefully, the pressure of your warm gaze that drinks me up
as if there will be none of me left.
Feel me, as I brush past your feet;
watch me as I wash your consciousness afresh
with the fragrance of the rushing sound of my heart, my soul, my everything.
The rushing of your sound gives me life and serves completely.
Interdependent, we care for each other;
we rush over rocks and remnant wood
as we flow boundlessly on our journey:
The rushing, the rushing of our sound.