She comes from to time.

Asking me, ‘what is it you hope to find?’

You suit up everyday assuming nothing will get in the way.

Course, I always ask, again, ‘what is it that you say?’

She turns a perfect mane from…

full knowing

my destiny


my constant journey.

A woman’s nursery rhyme,



daily quaff of the physique.

When I look into those big green eyes…

picturing her swagger and smirk.

My vain attempts at spirituality.

‘Tis the humans conditioned response to reality.

I know what will go unsaid with her delicate nature.

Her effortless calm.

The lack of drama.

This and much more resists human karma.

Casual contemplation…

Amen to Cat nation.



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