This is about me wanting to feel anything but the cold loneliness that I felt when I moved away from my home in the south.
I want What
Being brought from here to there has pounded cold craters all over my being.
Pure delight derived directly from our cries and laughs.
What cheers up the scare crow when the birds break bonds beneath his buttons?
Why would the vines and branches recognize my slightly swollen eyes secreting scraps?
Some naturally pass by and hardly slip a passing glance until grace grants a gander.
Naturally, the vines and branches naturally erect a mold around my problems, solidifying secret silences.
This floral Fancy is nice when grace glances, naturally.
But bountiful is "What" is bountifully absorbed absolutely dry.