too good

Your essence is viscous,

maple syrup with the soot of a bonfire,

coats my tongue and throat,

suppresses my inhibitions,

soothes my belly,

therein lies the crux of my misgivings,

for security that’s crucial loses itself within your grasp,

precariously postured, poignantly perceived,

apprehension is all that I can offer this moment of solace,

I fail to comprehend your bon vivant graces,

How it is, that you can present such flippant candor; why you would present it without a retainer,

What do I owe you, this wrenching contentment,

how can I see you with eyes that lack luster,

I have grown dim,

My spirit ensnared, caught in an updraft unable to rest, like a dandelion feather I float on the breeze,

searching and seeking a place for to kneel,

desiring a ground, unable to feel,

the numbness persists, a paralyzing presence, a phantom pestilence,

unsettled in nettles an unforeseen ebb,

like dust in your tea, or rust on your blade,

demoted from angels; we pulse and we fade.



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