In the rear
An amble saunter
Along the crumbly, feathery,
Thin airy walls of my heart.
Escorted by a rangy, slender clutch

Hooked into the inside of my chest.
It leaves a dangling slipstream
Fuming inside of me that when I inhale it bursts, flaring, making it second nature that I can't resist.
I take the bait and swallow it whole, sinking my feet into the ground.
It barges, a rambling impulse that takes me to a place I should have never entered.
When they speak, I have my ear at the door when I should have stayed behind, my head under the carpet.