Sweet Potatoe Spice.

Who was I to think that: I was myself. When can I continue: Go forever, I claim. Fine details provide gnosis of you and I. Compassion I give: So said, I feel glued to a thousand byes and whys. Yet and still, the stepping onto fragile mist, keeps the toes careful enough to walk, the crystals of a cloud. The drumming mist, holds its' course of travel off and on, into the breeze of harmonics. Finally I see further than dials and even beyond their faces' shrouds. You, it is you: My wives. You love me, you are my daughters apart. You chose first, to thrive. You love me apart. So that I would never be alone, you remember our filfthy focuses: Without the love. Yes, that matches my might, you have retained soil. My female Christ, we gained juice from the fruit of night. Likely spice. 👑 CJT 👑 👑 👑 👑