Twisting and turning, I’m

churning for a buttery existence, a

melting through the burn of resistance.

I want to flow, beginning to end, as

the flavor of life seasoned just right

for discriminating palates; the ones whose

mallets demand the taste of love in their presence.

Essential essence resonates with the kindred

and the lacking; the filled up and the cracking,

and here I am – sticky like glue.

Is it wrong to leave my residue, and then

slip away off the edge of a smile? It seems

I have a way with meanwhiles.

Moderation begs my leave… preservation –

my reprieve – yet, to my bosom clings

the thirsting heart for more.

Its score unsettled in my arms, with

less than requited charms, finds

adoration’s just a whisper behind the door.

Evermore, permeating measure, I wield this

captive treasure, finding peace just past

the reach of tangible.

Unimaginable only blinks ago, this truth

only my God could know hid in the belly

of self artifact. Therein, the part of origin

left intact beneath the rubble, the

broken bubble of this lifetime,

now wiggles its fingers through the crumble.

Prints brushing against the winds of time

with their endless story, caressed by glory,

where nothing else sticks.

Nurture is drawn to the outcry, but

nature remains slippery to a fault.

I am everything and nothing worth

holding on to.