In the vastness detained within blades of damp grass and the gusto
of stars’ light, she let the nectar pour between her thighs;
bathing in the sweet fantasy that promised to reach deep to the assurances
of the Sleepless in Seattle love, one which would stifle that portion of her
that perpetually burned.
She forgot she carried Holy, not between her insecurities but in the
river of red that beat her heart to partake in this mutual, empty dance.
Sweet girl, you are the salt of the earth, but if the salt has lost its flavor,
with what will it be salted again?