My cells emoting something primal and innately soul.
Offerings, prayers, and love poems for the Gods.
My cells emoting something primal and innately soul.
Oil-rich black sleek—cast of iron, salt scoured and seasoned. The fat of the land goldens your work and contribution.
A flame across my tongue burns, cleanses, grounds in acidic course.
Tongue sopping in ecstasy, throat slick, lungs emit— glistening, liberated inauguration.
That searing knife cuts straight to the core of it—facing truth from the belly of grief and shadows deepens us.
We are the alive bell tower, inspiration’s vessel ringing true.
The elements I need to burn bright my soul.
The Divine seed takes root, flourishing, thriving possibility, hope.
Entrance my soul from sleep into being.
Christ kisses our lips every time we take in air.