Am I Sargasso

It's snowing pinpricks of sleet here in the imaginary desert of my heart. Stop listening, please. Give me energy to embrace no land to lock me in. Penury's not all it's cracked up to be. When you whisper I usually laugh at my faculty of hearing put to the task. And while we're at it, kindly cease placing your ear to the closed door and disclosing who will always have the floor. And rain keep notifying me that balance equals a flavor to complement the bounce in my step. Not for you to say. Stay back just a step or six for a  jot while I repay your mild separation envy and draw in the sails to disco-vert the genuine spring we're about to release mid-pounce.

Planetary nectar unavailable in or after sleep still seeping into the icicle of brain rain

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