“She is a woman who values the voices of her aura.”

She has a bunny, that sleeps on her palm, he wished it was his hand in her palm instead.

Her veins are filled with the ink that writes onto the paper of her life and canvas.

She kneeled in front of him and drank away the teardrops, that was the power she held with her healing aura.

She is the lighthouse that guards the ship, the shore, the sea of his life, without her, there is no him.

Her end was her beginning, and her every new start was the end to her old version.

She wanted him to touch her velvety plush and blossom core, till she moans out words of prose and poetry.

Her thunders, storms, lightning, are destructive or life-giving but it all depends on who is standing in front of her.

She wish to read the minds of those who smiled wickedly at her, let her be the wolf to devour madness.

She is a woman, with softness in her smiles and pores but a steel firm core that is an epitome of strength.

Will you cherish me or ravish me with your wildness, if you were to know who I am in reality?

She stood at the tip of obstacles, but never blind to the light of faith.

It pains to be insulted every time you breathe when I am your oxygen but you have to wish to breathe.

I look at the lines around his eyes, they are my road map to my happiness.

She had a precious light in her heart, that kept him alive in the moments he desired death, she was his savior.

This life is no less than a war for power, will you be kind enough to let me rule you, Oh my Mind?

He had her scent seeping out of pores.

I’d wear clogs, short pants and ladies’ bracelets. I created this aura for myself.

The aura of uninvincibility has gone, if there is such a word.

A realized one sends out waves of spiritual influence in his aura, which draw many people towards him. Yet he may sit in a cave and maintain complete silence.

Her aura was warm and I was a naive sunflower, leaning towards her.

I think the energy I give off is quite non-confrontational. That’s something you learn from karate. Once you try to be a tough guy, you’ve got to pay up. You’ve got to prove yourself. And that’s exhausting.

The sunset on the beach, calls to her, opens your aura, and releases the power of peace in the air.

You are the sweet, soft, delicacy that delights my soul. I want to taste every part of your aura’s citrusy tang.

What you call magic is nothing more than an act of the imagination fired by the senses, then given shape by the power of your aura.