:::poetry
Its poetry.
words drip from your mouth
nectar oozing from the blessed fount

I crush the honeycomb in hand
And watch the golden sap
Sowing mountains on the flat land
Sense my skin in sugar steep, a sieve thru slips celestial sand

I sip in sleepless nights black tea with ancient honey
I consume the stars.
sugar crystals scrape my tongue, now wake me sound:
Music from the sky affix the tempo as my heart pounds.

I balance on the pin of art,
To sway between the heavens and the hard ground

Words are words, but living
It's poetry
:::