Whatever that sets you on fire.
The wind that rides the windchime of your soul,
And reverberates to the vibrations of your existence.
The shells on the shores of your being,
And the ship that never tires out from your sailing.
She is helium to your gas balloons,
Creepers to your grapevine,
Golden genie in a blue bottle.
Your bottled amortentia and spiked veritaserum,
And thunder-kind of late, ‘should’ve said that’-answers that follow.
The sound of footsteps in anticipation,
The silence in the epicenter your chaos.