Hello Grass
As a scalar man
with only magnitude
and no direction
I semi-float
on the dewed bodies
with the neurons greened
The face-washed skin
piped up
to the peaches of trees
Arc of happiness bent
to the flavor of Petrichor
Slope of sanguinity bent
to the gliding grasshopper
As the milky sky awaits
to dip
I stand here
to witness the
vacuum between
the breezy breaths.
— Drunken Monk
Thy Vox 
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