I'm just coiled into my rubbered heart.

Bouncing verses from the ceiling of my spires.

My breath is a long beg for creativity.

I yearn for words floating on the thirsty sea

of my mind.

God blowed spirit on Adam.

Adam gave birth to Eve.

I'm longing for the deep blow of words pouring

to   my mouth and fingers.

My verbotten fruit of sin.

Longing to be the new Eve.

I'll be perfect only when empty.

Empty as a bottle burst by sun and wind,

feeding my perfection through the sacred hatred of

words.

Creativity is one everlasting longing