slippery snippets

 

and time is a wet knoll; a saliva on the soul and brain
beads of kisses in and out in transit if roughly used
and we make our prayers hope Allah all around listens
my Muslim Faith feels the tinge of the answers
as I walk in dreams and awe and matriculates

meadow #117

circulates in my marrow and my spine and my
spirit. My abdomen not a code for only a spawn
but also a letter to the endless store of who I am
for is only a womb the womb of birth? Can it not
be the womb of ongoing bravery and psychosanct
modulations?

Speak yer mind

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