Identity

A vestige lingers of my sweet Ginger sharing the treasure of What color is love? Springtide fell according Affliction bred Tending a foundation; no longer perceived Flailing in an undertow between the realms of fragmented desires while desperately yearning to reunite with what can never be Convoluted tattoos pierced my being. Tangled in encompassed departures - aspirations drowned Wading no more- Restraining from feverishly Tangoing in a bog- Thus fluidly dodging the precursors and ancestry of my youth- they are not meant to be disturbed - nor used as weapons; subjectively or furnished by a barb Incidentally, the capacities of experiences led to my vanguard, emerging through a pool of quicksilver, accompanied with a tender disposition, united, benign and liberated