Bone Soaked

I am bone soaked
exhaustion of the well;

teeth-ground
doubling down
all or all
no turning.

I am bone soaked
drifting down forward

night’s grief
walking frays
twinkle-eyed
portrait parched.

I am bone soaked;
softly kiss my soul.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower