What the Muses Leave Behind

I might appear decisive. Ideas resting akimbo, black on white framing passage to the emerald kingdom. Can I give you a sure thing, some solid ground? Don’t count on it, no need - If uncertainty frames each portal; then as flower finds fog, melding edges incessantly hued, we court vibrations that triangulate me with you and you and you -harmonizing wavelength. We lift each other up. I could rise from sodden sediments bare breasted as a sycamore, the one down the gravel drive. She pulls water droplets from the deep rock pores, gives them a penthouse view, opens her lips and pushes them out. They connect with brothers and sisters. We see cumulus clouds -water laid landlocked for centuries, one rootlet closed the hoop. We lift each other up. I could sit like frog with eyes bulging above a rippled surface, meditating on digestion. Until in one violet flash, a horny dagger, we never saw coming, drags us up and out - tosses us down a rose gullet to a dank acrid pit. Hell… we cook beyond done