The shaft. hollow. gelatinous. Salty, but sweet.
a protruding bite
yet all the while a state of purity so relaxed presumes like a
butterfly carried by the presumptuous wind....
The boundaries dismissed by a compelling drive to fall into the
shaft, forward and profitable.
covered again until the wind arrives with only nectar on the
belly of a bee to yet another place, the window, the eye of
expectation. A gaze.
For people, places and things devour the pure release of
expression for the butterfly to dance yet again with the
reach...The shaft. Hollow. gelatinous. Salty, but ah! So sweet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.