Ear to the ground I listen To the whisper of your coming Barefoot Soul-treading Towards the serpent's mouth Herald of destinies Unspoken wishes Trailing by the hem of your cloak I cup my hands And call To the children of my fears

I do not know how long I stood there In the mouth of the cave Fearing The mist beyond held more than ghosts Clinging spectres cold with ill-use and ill-advised expectations I echoed against the stalactites Knashing they rehearsed No roar or strum Or clap Laughing endlessly

A thousand days and nights you slew me Scheherazade A thousand pages stole my soul Scheherazade Lost in gardens of your making Your breath against my earlobe chained me fast in moonless skies A thousand dreams in your grasp not waking I died the last Scheherazade Grok imagines

From these articles I press against my chest and furrows of my mind I draw the oil of our enlightening Terpene rich they flash with light Then float away Trailing smudges across my soul while they spread the dour perfume of funeral and futility

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Thanks Grok Will keep going 🫡

Serendipitous posting 😅

we really had it figured out with art deco

Cyber Deco is the future by Grok imagine

I adore Grok 🥰 but sometimes tough love is needed after a tough argument. The multiverse is dead on arrival. It always has been x.com/i/grok/share/o…