The Body Of The... (3/7/2020). -M.Weisgerber

To wake upon the rise, no surprise its still the same old blithing standard care as always,
Fretting here, worrying somewhere else there all about the flat:
Its as bad as you worried, the fear scolds that you carry
the small ones to rub our faces, each and sometimes every other morn.

I cant be sure you'll read the words, just showed ya how to work your mobile yesterday,
Hands shaking, so utterly sore from that other desire to long, to pray,
Body quivering, still detoxing from beside the worst of me -
Healthy now: the best time to get rid of or discard.

So what dear babe, what such little do we still have to teach each other?
Glean as the dark shifts round, a panic often found
You, only the same strict rules, the lies to tell yourself
That you don't need cornerstones, a gentle discard of belief, of prayer
I that reckless brown freckle adding on,
Choosing all those fears we held so close?
Choosing to ask of the other way, the one that you
cant seem to process
The deliverance, not from the old enemy,
Let alone the best contained within ourselves.

So which parts fall from us, the others soon delivered?
A hug, an Italian greeting that makes me shiver?
For its plague time, and as much as I want to remain close, you still desire to choose the falter
Its alright: you never need answer the questions sissy and I doth posed
Its ok; your hands seem so small, so old now as they reach
My lies; a neck best to ring and shake and scold.

Just a test, its still all very much an exam,
That they don't tell you of, the rules, the cheats, the answers thst all are love,
I am here with so very much, aware of what all could still yet be
You hate my house, I despised the aseptic of your room,
Embracing the ignore, which is twice as very bad
As I've always been told
As the morning breaks
And still that Son still rises.