I want to spill on the table. Red floods of berries color the imagination of Him. And I wonder where should I go. We walk into the room through that black door. And all I want is to spill on this table.
He is watching. He is waiting. He is forever testing my humanity. I am humane.
I am humane enough to cradle the nape of his neck. I am humane enough to let him feed. I am humane enough to allow him to quench himself of life’s elixir. And I am humane enough to let him breathe.
Just like the buzz of fermented berries, our pleasure is deep intertwined in mind. Forever against the grain. Forever behind my eyes.
In My Tree,