My Writing is My Art.

radiates

That we met?

flowing

the stream

in never-ending

a cautious reaching out of the hand

was all it took to be pulled into this world.

Time

ongoing

never-ending

flowing

My heart scampered away from me,

as if I were some disgusting blob of slimy frogspit.

Carving into the canvas of my heart

Breathing in a multitude of scents

Wafting from the different fruits in the orchard,

Caught up in the movement

Of the never-ending push and pull,