He is like a coupling of words,
Separate in definition and diction
Yet striving to meet and mate,
To hinge one onto the other and
Feast there till each word in its Crone-phase
Becomes new through union.
Like milk thistle.
The white tears of soft
Wet milk nourish as the
Harsh emerald prick of
Thorn bleeds you while
You drink.
He is me.
He is she.
He is you.
Crossing Over
1 year ago
