robinbloke | (no subject)

Aqua planing in b sharp minor the miner of the rooling hills flowing down gentle meadows in sweeps of softly billowing green.
Holding steady, mpt a thought to below just hands in my hands. Hold it close, hold it, sniff, yes, the familiar scent, open mouth and gnaw.
Taking that final flight out, soaring in peacful breaths of wind, too calm to be real, a gliding floating sensation just the hair ruffling. A far view down below over the cloth tapered edges to the fields of green and yellow rolling past.
Jusr no words, just a feeling of perfect threads of feeling floating through me. Dancing vibrations that clung to my skin and soured in faint echos away again to be washed over with the memory of every fresh note.