The freedoms given to us are those that bind men. But we dream of total system destruction.
An over haul of all slaving terms. The battle we fight is not for referendum. That is a choice to commit to organised chaos. We have no play in that.
No pick in our rules. But the songs we dream of are curvy, tall and slim, all and everything inside. Like the midnight colour of a woman I know. The tattoo coils up the leg of a wanderer. A telling sign of change. The times shift right under my feet, the universe vibrates into a new space.

Here comes the gift of truth and seeking. Curiosity took a bite out of this pussycat. The sought after dream of a good day. We advocate for a seat at the table of understanding. For the right to chose to betray or fall into constant love…

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