once, words were life blood warring
to spill forth from crevices exposing
raw bones of grieving
of blood on my lips
a scarring
from decisioning too young
my only what-if
yestermorrow, a let-me was uttered
reminiscent of a youth spent
yearning flailing
mourning of a thing palpable…
reigned in, I looked-about
at the Sweetness
of little paws dreaming;
thinks nestled to a thrumming
gratuitously, I’ve been given
and words like life
can unfold the only way they will
