As distant as the home lies in my navel
The sun that once shone.
Emptied of the womb, now I lie
Prostrate like a frog dissected on the laboratory table
That still smells of iodine and bona fide jealousy
Of dreams now crushed.
Being someone is never the same as being someone else.
And yet, the bottom of well-used pans do not crease
But smell of the birth of passions.
The caretakers of love
Stop by and effuse the potion with
A raw spirit- undying, tangled, and blooming.
Beyond the harbours of sleep, I stand now
Becoming the tangible scent of breast milk-
The time is truly in the now.
Date: December 24, 2021