May a snake language
taste me sweet;
better be my verse
to breathe my peace;
like tilted sphere
on twisted waves,
until my strength alone,
no tears I bathe;
for wilted be bloomed
my will to submit,
letters to my sense
and chances I commit;
or time may betray,
before it's one memory
slipped when it dances
to end this poetry;
but never it precedes,
maybe try by my choices
my fragile inconsistency
to dry my voices;
for silenced they must,
or wiser between worlds
apart by a modesty
believed to break curse;
then free along streams
my thoughts to noises
their peace to diminish
only by my choices;
for feared are fine lines
but so is equality,
to snakes in slithering--
what's worn, not dignity.
