12 Little Spells

Twelve little wells of golden ink
Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail
Arcing your back into the sand-cloud
Our thoughts underneath her skin
Arctic to equator
A pair of sympathetic ridges shift
You've evolved to harness
These constant eruptions
Through vascular penance
Tectonic verse flows
Riding again, again, again
They all can seem perfect
All floating a lucky heart over their palm
Casual ribs house an expanded mind
Left and right hemispheres in balance
Constant composition and
Eighty scribbles per minute
Let us flow into words that
Transfer every character that
Circulating function
Nests flowing forward out the snaking valve
Mouthing the eternal
It too dipping itself in and out in intervals

Twelve little wells of golden ink
Bone bottles stacked mouth to tail
Penned in it's planet
'Round the cracky pole
The inner halls expand
In gilded breaths

Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give itself the moment it is for
Compelled to give yourself the moment you are for
Compelled to give yourself the moment you held
Compelled to give yourself the moment you are hold