Saturated soul, you beam dance into the skys of my eyes and blast full lipped gloss onto my tongue.
You converse with me in the weave of the tree leaves and you let me bend; because I told you I was broke.
I land in shoulder length bloom of dark and of light. I shuttle up the burrows of my grim appearance and as my appetite wanes and grows, the motion of my brainheart does too.
I am not exhausted enough to let my thoughts convince me my future is no place for me to be.
Saturated soul, you whisper into my hands and brush my cheeks with blush.
I will continue.