Like a cork that’s just been popped from
a bottle tense with shaken soda
it all spills forth, disregarding the plan, the time limit
the need to focus on one issue.
No rules, it’s all going tidal, a tsunami
coming from a still glassy lake.
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Like being slit with a scalpel
I find myself open and bleeding,
fractured into shards of agate,
my layers exposed. All
I’m doing is speaking, one
to one. My palms are saunas.
My gaze fixed to your mouth,
not your eyes. I know
I need to speak. I must.
A stone mouth doesn’t make it easy.
Treeshallow Musings 