Chosen beauty

There is the beauty, the kernel of the prime hour buds, the natural virtue, all encompassed in enthralling awareness and the right chosen words. Won't look back not even to the last sentence spelled out, the prior best. Like a newborn pearl that's sustained by its branches, stout in firmness and wonder, being the last crate of the raw fruits of love.

It's the inner frankness, the way to race forward in the waves, the minimal reason within the wide. Picking it like cherries, warming it up with your hands with a crimson balm, and liking it as your own but letting it out and free in the wild. That's flow.