it was like a
mos
a
ic
of light,
formulated by the haphazard
organization of Mother Earth's
extensions.
gazing up,
i felt the
warmth of that
Morning Star
bathing my skin,
caressing my face the way
my mother used to when i was
small.
some utterances about
the bliss
and joy
and love
i felt in that moment
attempted a faulty escape
from my lips,
but were seized and
held captive on the
brink
of freedom
at the precipice
of that plump, pink
flesh.
perhaps there was
no need
for those mumblings.
perhaps simply feeling
was enough.
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