Dripping Wanton

Dripping Wanton

 So lost...
Your hands reaching out,
spreading your arms.

But how?, what?
Nothing is there for you.
Nothing will fall into your open

palms.

The constant wanting—

the dripping wanton

never paved a way

for your swollen feet

to trod.

Aimlessly, aimlessness

stained the faded aim.

If ever there was one,

If ever there was

more than this clueless

dust.