Sulking

Silk spun from the suffering

Spatial relations within my own heart

Since or sense by which forms measurements

Tightly wrapped in lose ends

No greater lesson than where focus lives

I dust off my human form for another

Waiting and wasting in time between

As they fall

Spirit dormant under hardened flow

Root mass as an urn of spring 

Waiting for winter to expand

Retreat to return

Sun draws to mornings dew

Sweetness pulled to limb

Yet to bloom to fruition

Basking before each dusk

Oh to have veins unfold

To hold just long enough

To crumble into mud