In an attempt to
explain myself,
I stutter always.

I am not nervous,
I am calm
but unsure.

As a brain with
feet prancing around
and dancing

*Slurring is my
way of
making art.

Expanding my lungs
for you,
I inhale all
of you
And exhale us

There are those who
Let the words slip past
there brain in an
attempt to sound
Justified

And then there is you

There are those who
Scale past provisions,
Guided only by sanctioned
Emotions mustering ways to
Mold by

Then there is you

The space between
you and I
may be large,
but the static
connection between us
has never been stronger.
Some call it chemistry,
Some call it luck,
Some call it fate,
I call it a future.

As you tempt me,
hanging barely from the tip of a branch,
barely inches from the tip of my fingers,
I hesitate, just for a brief,
but emotional moment;
time slowed around me
waiting at the edge of it's seat
for my decision
to explore the darkest depths
of the forbidden world of
forbidden fruits.

My hand moves closer
by the second,
Fear begging for mercy,
a plead I ignore
as my fingers caress you,
scanning your shape,
squeezing, and feeling your juice
slide down my fingers
and down my wrist.
Your scent calls me in
with promises of wealth & love;
an offer my instinct screams for me
to ignore.

Tell my instinct I'm sorry.