I am bound to certain spaces
to the cracks, to the red tinged
and unadorned pages that cry out
when I am otherwise nameless.
I am in love with the notion of rebellion,
with the bitter taste of disappointment.
Can words undue eons of conditioning?
The darkness is strapping
like a valiant, young lover.
I take him into me as if I were
a cup waiting to be filled.
He is all calligraphy
and forbidden knowledge.
He taps into me
with his great piercing root
and suddenly nothing is certain.
2 thoughts on “Wordle #361”
whoot! word perfect my friend, word perfect!
you still have a spark going strong – and this paints such a great picture – of the bleak and of longing, of the confusion and the surety of knowing – and then, of not knowing at all.
thank you so very much