saṃsāra weltschmerz ⚯

my muse alighted on my bed, 

treading gingerly.

astride me, she revealed her breast,

mewed the lonesome pain 

that pricks every feline heart, 

spoke of the waterwheel 

that draws tears to the throat, 

told of all the wings unfolded 

at the touch of her fingertips 

and the swans and icaruses 

she had left in her wake. 

no one thinks on my bed 

of suffering, 

mused the angel of thyatira,

no one ponders my fate.

how polyamory is an eddied river

that pulls with many currents,

a kármá(n) vortex street 

that confuses helical flight.

how all roamers of the infinite 

struggle to catch wind of 

the scent trail home ♋︎

                   II:II

                            III

                     I