Water.

Stream it. As it streams it seems to be soothing. Could be as cold as a winter breeze or as hot as the steam from the tea brewing. But it starts with water as a base because it’s shapeless. It can take form of anything you can dream of even in this obscene scene of love it’s tasteless. That is however the water I am talking about. I feel it more then ever being carried, how it’s being brought about. But it can take buckets, Chinese made it look easy making balance out it. Level of strength pulling the lever of the drain to get water out it. There was never mind a lake or a river in us to it you getting. Well at least you get to see what it is before you get it. Water to me concerns my relationship, it flows I hope. I mean I could go with the flow in a boat, know that I would hit a few stones, hit and skid across a road, tumble and roll over without crashing the boat. Sounds fantasy, nope or like a love letter inside a fancy envelope. Telling stories about Disney princess scenes in which we’ve grown to lose hope. I try to tell her baby hold on. Slow your role. You’re still pure even before the distill. I balance out your water and since I’m air signs of wind are none to keep it still. Don’t over flow the cup I know your water is locked inside volcanoes and erupts. Then I don’t make it better cause I start a tornado in the end we’ll fuck our environment up. What does that do us? What good is that to us? How the hell can we improve everything between us is ruined? I’m not pointing fingers cause the shoes is on both feet. Your waters boils, my winds pick up and you just evaporate into I am see. That’s not who you are. You are one of many forms, I just push you down stream cause I know what you are. How do I seem to flow more than you. You crash and I continue to go pass you. Then I stop cause I can’t leave you. Even if you leave droplets cause I am the gravity that forces them back inside cause I know they’re pieces to you.