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.