Falling Poem by Scott J. Shepard

The high handed hold reached forward
splitting the air. “Understand? ”,
you would ask me.
“Even the fog walks on water.”

Now dosed by it, we are nonmetallic,
the atmosphere echoing
to catch the diamond lattice
under your lung.

Rousing the amour propre
to make sweet love
you would say this is all chemistry;

A myriad of winded vanity
blew rich through poising cores,
piercing its brilliance
it craned and it span with vainglory.

The heart was a mirror of congruency
and we gave and traced the side lines
packing them in a dense core,
the partial pressure of coordinating
with your volume.

Within multitudes I have counted
these equalities that chain together.
An input had taken a deep construction
and the worth of an object
is an exorbitant space.

Now for the man,
the sorrows, the quality, the qualitative,
this internal sense of duty.
Could consequence, good or bad,
just merely be combination
breathing for a body?

A density floats like ice,
nitrogen will make up your mind
and so will the gravities of many moons