Distended

The flying serpents waggle through the air;

My hand, distended, eyes on target, set,

The amber gem betwixt these ribs to fret

Your crimson stone, the light of which to share,

Is absent; sleeping; yellow, mine, aware:

The cause, this pang, though desert and offset,

The wet withheld, no flow–with you in debt?

My hand, distended, eyes on target, stare

.

I, wraith-like, veiled; you cease not step or time

And passing through the amber glow, no wait,

In search for answers, and in aimless climb.

I tell you, stop and see the string of pearls,

Enticement; hear my silent ghostly quake.

My hand, distends–oh, eyes of target; mine?

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