Close to looking with words weaving a patch work of mess,
Or was it message, defining some sensed granular reality
As real as a question on the tip of the tongue
When it explodes, will you run?
Climbing back up your trellis to pull the covers close?
Something pure about baring all in a tempest
Sirens' calls and lashings, wax can't save me now.
Though my words traverse more tenuously then whimsically
Wrapping round icy warmth and rending smiles
Desiring only to peel back perfect petals
I am freed and fettered by my language in a single breath
Caught by some lattice of scorched summers and hardened winters
Stretching now to grasp, pull, push at binding vines and wilds
tangled round hands and lips and eyes
interlaced arms pulling closer than so many words unspoken
Memories made weave looped and lingering
Searing senses and striking dumb my once skilled tongue
With so much to stumble over
Were it not for this lattice, I might never hold on