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“Not a Poet” I sit with words, but they won't flow, A heart that feels, yet thoughts move slow. I yearn to craft a verse so fine, But in this task, I can't align. The rhymes elude, the rhythm strays, In tangled lines, my mind decays. I wish to help, to weave a line, But poetry's art is not in mine. So here I stand, with humble plea, Not a poet, just me, simply free. Though verses fail to dance and sing, In friendship's warmth, I find my spring.

*pouring

Happily, pouring... hope the taste isn't too bitter 😉

My favorite pour...

That molten line, A spear of sun-sweetened honey Drawn from the craterous flesh, Shining down, deep and smooth, Piercing through tongue and breath. It brands her lungs like a night-long groove, And longs to choke away the agony; Blood of the divine.

A deeper you Just another level to your infinity Our ability to tap into divinity Symmetry and genuine energies When the chemistry ain’t there The enemy is common ground No honor found in selfish desires The commas compound when certain measures are taken in place of displacement When vacant voids get filled in by efforts disguised as mistakes towards a “better” you. I never knew perfect The surface is ruled by fools who are certain Refusing to be renewed by new frequencies.