I could almost taste
its sweetness or
sorrow withheld by
the tip of my brain,
tongues which speak
without fingertips of words;
images form and concepts
crouch, seeking to leap onto
pages of expectant fields
ready to burst into
something unwilling
to be left unsaid.
 
Cobwebs capture and
break fleeting desires
freed of constraints
binding its evenflow
allowing moments
to come and lead
minding a release
of thoughts transformed.
It almost feels like
fire I’ve breathed,
smoke I exhale.
 

03/05/2002

Posted on 05/28/2002
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