The Spins

Brought on by division By simple sweet collide What's made in supple splendor That caters to complex delights We walk barefooted We walk upon stones Tettering on the brink Falling through the threshold Makes chaos tender sweet Condenses the sweetness held in swollen cheek That makes for perversely satsifying drink Not to be shared, but savored selfishly Calming and cool, bringing about a quiet rhapsody That lingers between bouts of insanity Made all the more delectable Made all the more discreet Even as it threatens to separate us We foolishly surrender beneath its delicious leak.