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Let it be known,
I didn't always lose myself
In the ways of hammers and flowers.
The two just sort of met and questioned compatibility.
It's an odd sort of dance,
Finding yourself amongst the noise.
I'll tear away the best of me to dig out the worst.\
This is a mission for the surface,
A mind mopper salvage
With hopefully less than underpaid results.
I can save myself, if I believe.
The garble made friends with my hands,
Picking through static for the God code.
All I want is my freedom.
"We" is the kinesthetic sort of answer
As if I may know my face through yours.
My flesh is not yours but, it belongs to you
In fashions we'd rather not label.
Preservation doesn't seem to need chains or fences in heaven.
When we seek at a distance I want to find you
With my broken compass and
Walk with you through wormholes.