Riding through the trees, along the path made by thee, we fill our bodies with a porous breeze.
Naturalized by the Earth, the object sits all short and quirk.
We take it one by one, until our souls become unearthed.
It fills the bones and blood by quart, and down we go into the earthy core.
The jungle is filled with terrors of bears and down we go through the trail of tiger hairs.
Love is forgiving as we speak, into eternity we stick our feet.
The mushrooms sit all short and quirk, we are the path our feet endured.
Into the wild chaos, head colliding first, we dove right into the fun that we call home turf.
Life and Love is made of small, porous things, as deadly as a mushroom poison throat sting.
Now we must decide the best path to take into the wild, deadly jungle mess.
—– a short poem about life and love