A constellation of emotion.
Drawing on memories’ insular portents.
Sequestered portions of insight amble into ambit.
A porpoise-full consideration slowly rolls over to reposition.
The shell of the soul cracked like the muscle-memory of a chiropractor reaching a book on the shelf.
Tufts of hair tilt over like a crowning moment to remembrance’s endear.
A gentle repair of imperatives to liberty’s steer.
Enhanced, a side-glance into nowhere’s comforting glare.
Sounds surrounding pause & poise making melodies as if time was talking, a listener to hear.
The ground, in acceptance of passage to histories communing in foreswear.
A reflection of ennui. Where a birds-eye view chirps to chip in.
A universe of being. As if the vowels of experience were singing.
The temple brows to a temperance of focus.
A rhythm curves the cursory exhalation to simper subdue.
Imbued a tune, a hallowed heart fleets a-glance a fire-lamp. The dancing flame opportune to offer attune.
Somewhere, the world slows down. A slow dawn as if a repetition’s chant perchance. A resounding inflection awakens alit in in the eyes.
A mantra making conversation in a mirroring mind reminds.
Epiphanies laugh when words wayward-s appear. And wearing a smile as welcoming the self to share.
The Ud-sa major in the sky crooning the musical Sa major. Ancient languages swoon over a high note to the Ursa’s minor connote.
The phonetics swing in twine, saith time. And in the recounting sway in recognition’s encountering mention.
The Moon pips a subjective dimension. A spectrum to awareness in extension.
The wind chimes when shine resounds. Into. Sublime.
A coat of quotes and passing poetry
"
There is an inertia to love, there syllables slip and meaning flits. Where the heights of one exist in the depths of the other. Like some parts of one have to see the eyes of the other. 
Sheer want of affection cannot scratch that surface. Just as token existence outside of posterity cannot derive outside of its tether. So when do ideas and form meld, just as eternity catches up the ages to contemplation’s slight tilt of the head. The inner fire always deigns to speak, when the wind comes calling.
What in event bears the signature of the universe, rearing to get your attention? The motif to outshine the conscious motive.
But a state of inertia is no fit place for a discourse. So this course turns, like a tightened corset tug, kneading the reins to re-enter the boundless night.
Proof of love is in the other. It calls for no other ensign.
But for a lover, that is never enough. And identity toils, and form reappears to make its foil. Syllables catch their caches of words and attributes identify their adjectifying constitutes. Grammar makes itself out to call time.
The tertiary makes inertia. And its measure not without its trial. Attestation to bridge the subjective, and requite to meet its respite.
Parables compete with aphorisms and silence extends to after thought.
Laughter is sought, giggles a universal type-set to calm home, the feeling hones to recognise its marker, like a horse with no name, sure-footed yet to a mystic muse. Until enthuse articulates enough felt to call the same.
Travails of consciousness shadow ancient histories like a mystery in aim.
Like every other, hears a pond of empathetic acclaim. Despite and unlike any.
Consciousness, love and the Fool.
"0 - The Fool and Love | Tarot