By Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer
my tongue inundated
thoughts gladly compelled
thirst bliss never sated
tears pierced through heart felled
I fill Your flesh coming
and wisdom in words
like dripping fresh fruit
savory meatmeal make thirds
the sauce overflowing my lips suck slurp greed
for more of what strums in my essence lute creed
I listen awash simmer glimmer grow sweet
all else seems at best useless dust at my feet
drowned breathing and swallowing berries abound
burst flavor then pulsar a basket bright sound
the whisper that floats still from Word uttered then
the universe exapnds collapsing again
all is as was will be in that disk of bread
You are, Sweet, Beloved, intimate world no end
