How did the little beetle
From all the way outdoors
Crawl across the sales floor,
Scale the tall glass shelves,
And the smooth ceramic cup,
Squeeze its beetle body,
Down into the straw,
And out the other end,
Ruining a fourteen-dollar mug
That costs pennies to produce?

Because you let words fall
Like syrup from your lips,
Damp with sweet pretention,
I fold between your whims,
And hints of gratitude.

The phrases, words, and sighs
Lapping on your tongue
Betray consideration.
Reciprocated greed
Is all we have in common.

The feeling flees.
I fear, so far,
I’ll never feel
The way I felt
When feet, they fell,
As to compel
With a subtle change in direction.

Don’t let me fall asleep
Laying in the grass,
Beside your climbing shadow,
Tracing silhouettes.

Your ascending body,
Shaking free the leaves,
They sail on silent currents,
To land and fret around me.

Sitting on the branch,
Letting bare feet hang,
Which limbs obscure the sunlight from my eyes
And next, deny me the relief?