April 18, 2010

NaPoWriMo Day 17

Confession
I have poured the contents
     of my overstuffed frontal lobe
     onto the pavement, before
     they had a chance to
     spoil, fester, pressurize,
     explode,
     stain our clothes.

The fluid forms a shallow
     pool between us, sometimes
     rippling with ambition, sometimes
     bubbling with intent.

A leap of faith, to show you
     these permanently simmering waters.

And now, the test of my
     trust, the anxious moment
     of waiting after I
     invite you to drink.

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