What’s Beautiful

Little Spud in the Big Apple

It’s the comedown of it all.
the after
splash,
falling back,
air rushing out of faux down,
feeling the thought rush in,
remembering that sweat is a response to heat
not a cause of it.
That natural occurrences are sometimes all that are needed to peel our psyche away from the glass of existence and send our paper-thin souls reeling into a bluish silk of several eternal moments.

It’s the exhalation that resonates into laughter,
the feeling of someone’s hand on your face,
the unlocked portions of yourself
quietly turning,
the tumblers of your most sacred secrets falling into place,
moments shared,
unspoken thoughts whispered,
textures unknown catalogued by the brushing of finger tips,

It’s the electricity that becomes part of a cycle through two souls,
from a distance they are an infinity symbol;
an “O” with a half-twist like a lime peel;
a Möbius Strip of tongue and massaged…

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