If I Had Sinuosity

If I had sinuosity I would ooze into corners Touching them as gentle as a first kiss, In a non-hurtful loving way, not tearing wallpaper Or making a dent or flicking off paint. I would slither my mercurial self around people’s conversations, Silently, stealthily, meandering my melting body into a quiet place, Observing them unperturbed. If I had sinuosity I would wind myself Into the unbeknownst inclusion of the unobserved. I would soon understand all of the misunderstandings, and I would try to help. But people would be afraid of my slithering ways, so they would not listen. I would be serpent-like, and feared, if I had sinuosity.