Serpentine Soil

Rustling like the faded foliage of a floundering yew I sweetly slide off of my bristling branches onto broken bedrock littered with dead cut flowers pale and powerless recounting yesteryears as the emerald enigma that embroidered crimson crowns of resplendent orchards brimming with virginal exuberance As I split further my source thoughtfully dotting these thickets like spots on a leopard I ruefully relieve myself in this serpentine soil a mosaic of flavor for shamanistic forays into fractal dimensions unrooted from the aridity that intermediates our initial infantile incision and our soothing swan song