And we’ve become green in the face,
not from a flowering sensation
that blossoms in shared tongues twisting in spontaneity.
Becoming ever so green in our eyes
when choked back words are rejected
and our stomachs face an upheaval of swallowed back doubt
rocking about in the acidity of uncertainty
now eroding this tangled ground
where we tried to dismiss concern with enraptured hands.
It’s a speak or die silent scenario.
Release the hatches for the overflow,
or refuse to swim as the passion collects its toll.
Leave the door ajar to let the demons out,
or snap the key in half with our teeth.
It could last the rest of the night.
( ❤ Mitch)