There’s an ocean inside you,

and people are swimming in it.

Brushing their arms, stroking theirĀ legs

against your waters,

leaving their thoughts before they enter

the holy body.

And they cleanse their own

whilst in yours.

ocean baby




How do we meet those rare creatures, the hybrid of their species
The speckled Zebra, the kind blue Hyena, the laughing Swallow
or the willowing Bamboo.
How do we stop our feet, from crushing four leaf clovers when we hastily run through football fields.
How do I correctly calculate the probability of meeting you
and taking the correct motorway lane rather than getting stuck on an eternal train , riding on a wishing star,
through a Milky way of Mud.