Unclad.
My shoulders.
Energy gets delivered from these two rocky points.
It measures as a shape of a triangle.
With the third point, tip acting as a nail under a hammer.
Waits for a soft part in my heart.
As wood moistens, bares expression
I melt. Wax encumbers my gifts.
Short lived butterfly lives.
Blown like bubbles in my face.
Not able to hold a facial for a glint.
Indefinable in a dictionary.
Every spoken word, spoken.
If death is near, each utter is incalculable.
My mouth, my best friend who tucks me in.
Who talks with reasoning outside my own vivaciousness.
Animated thousands of eras beyond before.
Listen to what I have to say, death is coming.
Coming.
An electrical machine of the oldest type.
Unseen lighting, unused power.
Never gets tired on a run.
Call me, call upon me. BAM
I don’t believe I have seen you like this.
Where hands are hearts.
Sensitivity is conception.
Where moving is fruitless.
In Wats , home.
Unclad clouds. Unclad Home.
