Elastic Grip

Writ a Eel

In my awake hours,
I've spent every counting grain.
Off with his image I would pond,
melting in my heart

Scorched by the scour
-ing love oppression.
Slumbering contorted,
living as great art.

Twelve to twenty petals,
capture the grace.
Siding with my ken
as I sit on his face.