mamas lips worshipped mosquitoes sad for their reputation carriers of death but perfectly created she admired the survival by sip she admired that pregnant mamas only took to nurture never kilt she crooned at nectar nourished not death fed But nature is not kind to be kind mamas lips spilled reality that nature’s kind is to be she wanted to be reincarnated as a mosquito one whose gut laid void of lethality poor mosquito How do we balance? she wobbled. how do we pray when we root for the cheetah or deer based on the lens presented? life roots for itself laid like sheafed tessellation of structured breath each breeze dependent on the breezes before, dimensions of mosquitos on mamas lips
From: Vol.10 N.01 – Private: The Transformative Now
Reverence
by
River