To The Letter
This much, This...
Such a lonely, insulting
Compromise, when
Then was so...
So, and Will Be
Long ago drew
First breath
And formed union
At mother's breast.
Would I could spank
Bare-ended day,
Taste the surprised
Recognition in my own
Mind, draw honed nerve
Across umbilical,
Shatter sunrise and
Sets into continuance...
But a tiny tempest
Between the margins
I would labor the
Butterfly from the jar!
Times are, though, when
Then and There offer
Small cries,
Pelting echoes,
Satiating me, yes,
Like the movement of
Unborn child
Yours forever,
Embryo
Birth sign: Not entered
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