The Sequence Inherited

Shall we go forward?
The thorn tree imposes nessecity.
You are going to ask where are the fill?
And the incredulous miracles?

If you were not the wine the pure moon
cooks, sprinkling its lemon across the archipeligos.
To kiss lost sea's skins and for aspens.
You are going to ask where are the fill?

And the boundless stalkss of cattail?
And the snow unguessed splattering its roots and wiping them full of
vicinity and elephant?
Everybody here is waiting for the next flower head.
You heard yourself for discovering.

My heart is filled with wonder like a paper-mache lighthouse.
Sunburst orange jungle to my obscene shades of blue!
The necklace imbuing from my shoulder.
I grow as if with a muzzled polyp.

Draw from it the dead projection of its own phenomenon.
You are going to ask where are the fill?
And the spacious farms?
And the sun infinite splattering its energies and decaying them full of jungle and tiger?

And amid my hammock, during the sunset,
I woke up naked and full of wonder.
A ship is not enough to replace me and keep me
from the archipeligos of your cordial epiphany.
Outside the land like sand.

Thanks for Reading
All Images from Pixabay
Poem Written by me