Soaked in meditation; nothing compares
when the water runs down my back, through my hair,
past my sun-stained eyes, nestling
deep into the crevice of my throat,
Oh, to push and pull and heave at each guttural sound.
To latch to the arm of the poser, to take the disguise as leader,
To crack an egg for the insatiable, collapsing on each
foot with all sweet might.
Cooing to sleep the impalpable little brains, of fur in teeth and lemons on
Chase not the unseen – peeking blatantly at the tortured.
Travel East, tip toe the mountains, stomp stomp the muck.
We can leave when we are cherished here, please
please travel east.