It feels like floating,
embryonic, foetal
supported by unseen safety nets.

Waking, ogg mouthed
in wonder of transient osmosis,
that moment before the coffee is smelt-
heart deals fatal blows-
emergency resurrection in hollow memory.

Languid language
drips viscous like Mercury
quick from the sharp tongue,
bursting this protective amnion,
gushing pools of wasted sensuality,settle- evaporate

particulates remain to wave goodbye

to the hope that gave birth to idea
the whisper in the dark, so loud.

In this safe place,
nuzzled to familiar warmth
I know I cannot stay,
I should not be here
finding solace
Where none remains.

3 responses to “Exodus

  1. It works somehow…this strange mixture of sensuality and bell jars filled w. “pathological” specimens. We do find ourselves, at times, looking for solace in places where there is non. Interesting write, Shan.

Put me out of my misery people!

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