The season is Spring. The birth of the Sun transfixes our entities, latches us onto the infinite cycle of seasons. Digitalis Purpurea blossoms. She is the queen of wildflowers, a favourite to the honey-bees. I Had to lick. Couldn’t resist.
Falling backwards into the multiverse, the membranes of past, future and present feeds in my veins. Mind in retrograde. A swift contraction of the heart, it’s impossible to breath in it’s clutches. Rhythm deranging like a drunken guitar riff. Death on the tip of my tongue and life on my fingertips. Forever trapped in Limbo through a kiss.
Nothing wrong with a bit of prose poetry to start the day!