An Unfinished Thought

I did not eat the right kind of food
Grown with the fertility of your lips
Nourishing to my feeble spine.

This I did not eat.

I plugged into electric waves
buzzing friendly animosity
A current sparked system.


Great bellowing and belching healthy mothers sitting criss-crossed
Full-wombed bellies are hanging lazily to the forest floor
Breathing in the moss, decaying leaves, and animal scat.
Healthy, full-grown boys beating drums, erupting from engulfing safety of mothers curves.

Stronger kings, in fungus armor, and handsome manipulations of rain-mist sabers

So many tiny children, with pygmy hands and feet will scatter, spin dizzily come back again.
Into stronger knits and weaves and draping, fine garments; dazzling, shining teeth
Reaching back all the way into sickly sweet cheeks.

Lovers, dancers, evangelists, intimate spirit-souls dream woven waking up and feeling
Stretching, reaching,
Seeking for that warmth with fingers outdrawn,
Longer than they have ever been,
With One Wish.
Oh, if only, to find that last trickle of warmth that you had left,
To find that sweet fragrance of your having been,
That chance brush against your humming skin.

It was taut against your shoulder blades, your contracting, relaxing, muscles
And sang attractively when plucked.
Twanged, purred, groaned.
Harmonized. Rumbled and shifted to shake rolling meadow grasses and vent fervid steam into the deepest of the Oceans.
Strummed from your hip, determined by the pressure of trembling fingers
Held to that gentle sloping of your neck.
A well traveled path from the lobe of the ear to the expanse of the collarbone.
That intrinsic, honest entree for the whispers of my lips to the mighty pumping from your heart.