the fall comes late here
as i sit with pricks of insecurities
salting my thoughts too sharply.
the taste (its potency) blazes over every spice of life
and numbs reception to all other flavors.
God, ease the sting, the insufficient love
i lack the strength myself to
seed deep the power i've come to know
let me not blast past for fear of pain
for fear of past becoming present once again
let me taste each subtle, blooming flavor
in all its glory for what it is
and abstain from how i salt life
with my human hands