Visceral Variants by Jen Curry

Exploring the depths within.
Touching the inklings of stardust.
Tasting eighty-seven impressions,
from life’s, trusty, earthly crust.
Doves did descend.
Becoming one’s close friend.
Carrying me back to attend.
Soul’s repressive, reprimand.
The shadow underneath the wings foretold
the cold that would unfold.
Like, winter’s chill and frozen mold.
Blankets now covering clouds of control.
Until spring, comes again to grow.
I stay undercover of dreams that know.
Human’s perfection no longer imposed.
Simmering steam, heat, naturally flows.
Turning to the less painful side.
Cradling the pillow of pride.
More warmth is applied.
Fulfilling comfort that was once denied.