Tendrils

I see svelte squads, attachments, golden threads

ascend from my youth. Herbaceous spirals

go stretching out, to hook my ankles. Our

descendant cords with loops that snatch a flare.

I stand, powerless, as my laps mature.

Treasured cells that divide. Do not misplace.

My youth cuts rock, with beryl eyes. Collage.

The tiptoes on exuberant vittles.

I shake, sanctioned. The peaks of our souls blow.

My youth revolves by berths of bellflowers.

Be decorous. Be sure of your recourse.

The svelte, old squads die. Sticking no more. Why?

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Thanks for reading (Stephen)