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Nymph From Exodus

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Are we less superior to ourselves than realization? Our temporary shell, our salt, our generation. Our streamers flutter like snow in Antarctica. longing and valid expansion, made of mica. Striving to liberate us, it rips apart its body. Once again, envisaging us embody. Systole, diastole, adventure indiscriminately. The wide open oozes a scent of love imminently. Shimmering between each of the drumbeats. Summer, you are the windlessness of such feats. We ate, kissed, cuddled, and then supped food. A day's total is a unit of measure for what you lewd. Need and desire exist in an interdependent reality. We bury our bodies as a sign of our mortality. The fate of our remains while wearing the shell The land utters us the title of a spare body smell. Synapses are memories, and we are waiting. In order to cross its boundary, there is no gating.
Written: August 09, 2022

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




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Date: 8/9/2022 4:36:00 PM
Thank you for the wisdom in your poetry my friend. I enjoy the way your poetry helps me to think more open-mindedly. Blessing my dear friend, Bill
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