In up turned palms of prayerful offering,
soft words cupped like baby talc
coated thighs on which a solitary salty drop
lands lifting feathery mist of dusty scent,
I hand precious sense without language.
No vessel to contain this thing,
cradle this wordless um, huh, uh…
hum of tremble, soundless sigh,
flicker of static sinking into swollen thick
wall linings, padded and mucid
in dank uterine hospitality clinging
bound for blastocystic burgeoning drift.
photo credit: http://wp.production.patheos.com/blogs/spiritchatter/files/2013/11/offering-hands.jpg
