+ JEREMY ROSS
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Slept Up

I am under my covers now. Dense.

I will never think of that term sloth; not anymore.

I am minding at full, my own capacity of efficient work;

as are you- always.

This is our raging opinion coming to rest.

Equality; do you feel it?

To every level my thoughts climb and descend their way,

Upon waves of rash decisions, justified resolutions,

or revolutions.

Which ever suits me for that time being.

Which ever I observe.

YES!

Under my covers is-

in its own judgment-

A perfect reflection in my overall representation;

projected unto my physical vessel and surroundings.

Existing as:

separate,

functional,

and yet, abundant with life!

It has been manifested as precise particles giving balance to my pooling mind;

chrysalis in my resonate love.

I never could imagine wave-form love;

yet always does it bear upon my altering state.

To its influence my movements append.

When strong emotions emerge,

I feel-

chest caving-

exerted forces that a particle like I can not interpret.

Latched arms taught round my torso,

pulling my body into my blankets.

Deeper still into a sea of waves that are in constant fluidity.

Wonder those arms.

Savor their touch.

They hold my covers and I in unity of then, present, and soon.

No longer can sloth apply when required to turn inward and experience love.

The need is extreme in density.

Wave Frequencies may not hold in our air.

Our life breath.

Yet, we must suffer out a way.

To commune in our sea,

where we all have originated.

Under the covers.

In our beds.

Broadcasting to world around.

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