There is nothing but the swirling amber
rising and falling like a sleeping ogre’s chest,
numbing the sense of trepidation that swims about
aimlessly, catching the beacon of the lighthouse.
In the dark we dispel all our inhibitions
for who is wont to notice?
But in the face of their stares and processing brains
we stumble, afraid of them knowing
what to us is unknown.
And whilst we play this game of cat and mouse
there is the swirling amber, charming the enduring soul
with its potion of surreptitious logic
and potent healing magic,
we drain.