Spice

It teases your mind and opens doors to ideas not yet born. They sit dormant, waiting for the music to play. And upon the right tune their leaves will wave with the sound of a drunkard whistling in the wind. Heard on the same breath. The smoke creates a canopy above, shielding the darkness from above. For the light has been inhaled with the spark of a flame. And puffed into the wind.

-OM

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