You do not need to see my skin
or feel my insides
to get a glimpse of my soul
it contorts beyond this thin net of crystallites
then broad in other realms
You might not need to hear me speak
or watch me live
to taste the waters in which I’ve been sunk
not with veiled mirrors but eyes wide shut
Cassiopeia. And the male flower.
No throne, I will neither drown and blossom.
I am, I am, I am.
The shattered pieces of a humble yearning
I am understanding beauty as the manifold of the unspoken.