Too many words
Unspoken, unfelt, undermined
You skim like glaze on skin
You bury inside a worm hole
And still in absentia of soul-works
And heart-chemistries
You find the grind, the twist, the torque
Voiding that boggling feeling.
And that feeling can suckle
Moisture from a deep aquifer
Of sometimes lost
And forgotten collectibles
And the moment, when the source
Of nostalgic retrospection
Is sprinkled out through
The porthole of an eye,
With no forewarning,
You know implicitly that
Truth is the levy you pay
To be in love.