Inherent Swimming Poem by John Weber

Stepping past the crater towards your door,
          I am reminded of warm days
surrendered in flowery abandon while
          brushing against cool veins of
leafy promise, requiring only the slightest
          compassion for the flow of life.

The scope of our crusade sings bitter,
          like absinthe in a Fanta bottle;
tangs of anise and wormwood persist
          within ether's truthful vision
resisting factory flavors in a curtain,
          velvet reminders of flesh.

Lap your moistened shape. You dissolve,
          my expectant sugar cube, no longer
made jagged by expectation or campaign
          but fragile again, doughy in
blissful rapture upon my snacking,
          curling up in a fetal calm

until we flow once more with the surge
          propelling us entangled yet
unencumbered, finally breathing our
          amniotic potential within this
spiritual umbilical making my stomach
          spin within these tugs of finality,

despite my carpenter's heart yearning to
          mend or create. Do arrogance and
industry compel mankind's devastation? Such
          a question drifts unanswered as I
kiss your wrist before strapping on my boots
          to hurl my blood into the fray.