suppose the twitches and kicks as you sleep are your constant fight,
despite my slumber I can feel your soul in the palm of my hand,
your naval gland stores immense creativity,
it's leaking,
vim euphoria as the land cycles at your feet,
steep mountains and lost valleys fill your empty pallet,
impasto islands with your existence and steal their ways,
and the less baggage means you'll likely not stay.
don't have to say anything,
since your stare tells me all I need to know.
