All the things of this world, this land,
disappear in the touch, the touch of the hand.
On my temple your deepest existance reaches mine,
the hours go by, but now theyres no such thing as time.
The metocognition is far more than it is,
and as the situation goes by, feels like all this I missed.
Because time is not loyal, a dream this to be,
but the awaken strikes as tingle erruption,
for this moment in time, its all about curruption.
Maybe feelings are a lie, maybe roses to be fake,
but no worries dispair, cause the temple inside does shake.
Shake of brissels from the lightest poke,
more and more of sensation delight i do toke.
No sound does proclaim, just expressions of more than pure bliss,
when accomplished, the task I forever do miss,
Though sensation may be simple, love conquers it all.
The one love this is with, always synthesis, never fall.
 
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