Who is the creature in this jungle of words, coiling from crown to neck, vining spirals across the chest, tight against breath, against pivot of hips and swing of the leg into step? Bound like this, there is nothing to do but wait, bouncing toes until they rest, splayed flat in damp earth until whatever holds me here starts pulling. If this were a poem, it would end the way other things end, with flowers.
💮
Wow this is something new from you. I’ve never read a post like this from you and I love it. I love the rhythm of it.
Gamelihle, thank you for this.