Room to Move
Lodged in between, stopped early by forces,
Curried away with a cutthroat dry courses.
No wetness for looseness, mud becomes plaster;
All there is is a little room to move faster.
Nevertheless, each dawn encompasses yearning
For just one more. Patience constantly turning.
Swap that which foresaketh, more or less whole,
Get something much sweeter, tongue plays a role.
Cuffed in a virtue, cutting through forest trees;
A chopper would help break and buckle the knees.
