Colorful murals cover buildings on call street

There are ideas I’m not fully aware of
Things I feel lurking in the shadows
Waiting to be acknowledged
Waiting to be named

And here I am with my limited vocabulary
Unequipped to meet the new identities
Like puzzle pieces in the rain, they keep
melting away, amorphously forming

My fear, a number that keeps repeating
Blocking me from expanding
So I know this isn’t real
This semiconscious mostly autonomous
soft arms and savory words

This on the tip of the tongue type lust
is actually something of a lower vibration
So what’s the opposite of lust then, love?

A Taste of Desire

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