Mood — Succumbed To Your Drip-Feeding Of Love, I Can’t Help But Prance

by Valerie Bungener

Succumbed to your
drip-feeding of love
I can’t help but prance in
the wide fields of cotton buds.
That you’ve stitched upon
every promise you’ve ever
touched. Within the wild lust
you mutter to the gods.

Once ushered into a self-
induced cocoon of a safe bosom.

Hidden away from day-to-day,
seemingly afraid to intertwine
minds with different tribes.
Interactions had become
fractured. Mastered the art
of draping the cover over face.
Now, a welcoming party awaits
at a house built to upstand
The traits I aim to wake.
Coupled with hope and grandeur
The season has come to blossom
To relax that once suffering lip
And drip feed the decree
That I am to be set free.