Some sort of goodness.

Whenever you're very far from relax, give me the halo to weed you.
From the dryness of your lips to the deep of your lungs, I want to touch.
The redness of my cheeks under your charming chant.
Wonders of plenty notions; the green getting suppressed in the dawn, toasting with the poison that will never take you back from the atmosphere of my surrounding sky.
Roaming and purring around your legs, trying to kindly taste every part.
Every sense and everything else that I can't explain, anxious for just a piece of you.
Load up my chest and beware of my unstable desire.