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Return to Cups |
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Evolution of a karmic landfill of desire |
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It’s origin traced to a pair of sexy legs |
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A brazen wonder for a handful of enlightened men |
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Hands in their pants and transfixed upon her blinding facets |
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Momentum gained via ancient secrets flashing subliminally from her motion |
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Time stops and in that brilliant moment the thought of her is a conduit |
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To rare glimpses of universal magic and the aura of possibility |
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The possibility that physicality is meaningless and inconsequential alone |
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Spirits need to collide in order to gain momentum in this life |
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Bodies must engage… words and ideas volleyed until it hurts like hell |
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Spiritual collisions are complicated, worthwhile and essential dances |
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Music is the language of souls --- she hums in the radiant magic it bestows |
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She takes all the pain to appreciate fleeting joy |
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Rides the joy until its threadbare through the days of despair |
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Her heart scavenges for epiphanies at the side of the bed |
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And then rolls over to continue her evolution as a karmic landfill of desire |
