Free Floo Womb of Hers

Concerns run around faster than I get to the next town.  I pack all my things that are not mine into a car that is also more so, not mine.  Drop it off, scavenge thru, sit and soothe, surf and numb, fast for space, a slower pace.  Driving up to the city, I have left behind gravity.  The claim is community.  But this tree always speaks better than "woke" devotee.  Why do we speak to start?

I pay toll and toll until we will have scheduled space in foreign place, complete with opportunistic haste.  Not alone, not all one, I flow slower and lower, until all our vibes exhaust.  Prius exhaust, fill with gas.  Inhale city gas. exhale mostly me, supposedly grounded mass.  Play on words I wish I could make, but no names in this story, or are there?  I love her, but current is not of her mind, I slowly, lowly bother her with this come-bother computer.  When is love?

Have I told you how epic I feel regardless of how i deal? Ideal or I feel, you feel?  I have no blame, like I said no name, but I do aim to un tame, defame, 'void maim, love dame.

Does she have any idea? 

I can only account for here and now, and pray for yah, leave from ma, give to 'llah.  We can connect and dissect.  All can dissolve this sect with love and sex, to touch her next, flow of hers fruits flowers to fill towers so we do not live in those cursed places away from Her.

"My" strength has been built by Her, can I simply share it with her daughter, ought to feel her love, sought to be made of pure her, purer, purrre.

Love,
Vision,
Strength,
grant Big Fruit to yah