Like Guilt

Out of the Otherworld,
She comes.

Mystified.

By the hot,
Muggy Morning
That clings to the naked form

& refuses to be ignored.

Baring a powerful Sadness,
Fueled by a Secret,
Certain memory

One that drips.
Collects,

Forms pools,
Full of righteous indignation
That serves only to mettle the soul
& trick it into saying,

“That’s the way it goes.”