The toil and the beauty, rest in these lines. A poet in the night, quelling my feign voice.
Confluent in my mouth,
Tonight I taste the turmeric essence of
Everything you told
That endearing echo remains
The nickname that gave
Oh ālittle one, little oneā
Eventually must age
And
The thread frays
Like an untouchable
Covered in ashes of the thousands
From the same fire of the pyre
An atlas, we all must toil
Art by: Gregory Colbert
Thank you friend! š
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you piqued that interest with the fine blend of words. sometimes when I feel anxious I taste ammonia on my tongue but when I feel happy its very citrus like. I never really focused on that but your words prompted those deeper thoughts. always my pleasure and wonder to read your writing.
Enshrined Poetry 
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