satiated
how nice it is when whatever
satiates has done its job
when outside of relaxation
looks down and says rest there
my child for muscles have laid
their said knots and mind has
slipped the noose of toil
soil oil broil hydrofoil
adrift upon a sea of ease
and whatever has the job just done
has slipped the sluice lock torrent’s in
flow across the washed fields of yore’s
marshland under skies of marsh clouds
over cataracts of falling mist as if i would
never reach the floor but hang here
until satiated be forever satisfied
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