Inherent Swimming

Stepping past the crater towards your door,      I am reminded of warm days surrendered in flowery abandon while      brushing against cool veins of leafy promise, requiring only the slightest      compassion for the flow of life. The scope of our crusade sings bitter,      like absinthe in a Fanta bottle; tangs of anise and wormwood persist      within ether's truthful vision resisting factory flavors in a curtain,      velvet reminders of flesh. Lap your moistened shape. You dissolve,      my expectant sugar cube, no longer made jagged by expectation or campaign      but fragile again, doughy in blissful rapture upon my snacking,      curling up in a fetal calm until we flow once more with the surge      propelling us entangled yet unencumbered, finally breathing our      amniotic potential within this spiritual umbilical making my stomach      spin within these tugs of finality, despite my carpenter's heart yearning to      mend or create. Do arrogance and industry compel mankind's devastation? Such      a question drifts unanswered as I kiss your wrist before strapping on my boots      to hurl my blood into the fray.