We circle around our own rapid hearts. Fill our mouths. Heartbeat aches a path older than years. Bitter palate, never sated. We spit out seeds of grasping, and we breathe, and yet they press. Starving, with abundance all around us. Rip out that which suffocates. Trample the encroaching. Our paths lie steady, overgrown. Always waiting. Check the footing, every step. Humanity, a heavy blessing. Open arms bear softest skin. That which guides us, brings us in.
