in time, it feels like
spinning;
we are
beautiful
beyond words that
not even silence can
sing in tones of justice. we
lose control of our bodies to
stories of drums
pulsing with the blood through our
veins, wind swept tales
waltzing with the ancients and
we learn
just how small it
all
is.
rising the sun over a vast
expansive canvas of
sand,
we are a family of
faithful tradition,
dust-loving
children with
lovely acidic giggles and
neon blood
taunting the sun
with war cries of peace
soaking our skin in our own
salt,
holding eachother as one in
twilight and
pushing back the
dawn.