Cinnamon is the bark that makes the air sweet. The wood that makes the water sweet. And grain is the method that reaches my heart. Stirring into a form of nectar to gather a honey like sort of medicine. Healing comes from the heart. And love is the potential, an invisible matter suggesting the way to go to get to the good one. A sweet man is like a caramel offering. So full of itself and overflowing in grand substance. And strength is evident in the stature, steady grip, very direct this one. And somehow my spirit travels to you in the thought of how I am made sweet and kept this way. Held safe and saved in a way. In sustaining life within the everlasting. Waters are the living memory and portions not bitter as purification ignited within the particles to settle in the acceptance of itself. And I want to pour into the roots of the one reaching up into heaven. And drink of my maker, take in and make new. Hey caramel.
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