it’s right underneath,
brewing under my chest
this quiet whisper circling-
not spiraling downwards as
i often tend to, but in the way a
gentle breeze swirls a handful
of leaves and they flutter away.
there’s an inquisitive nature
to it where there is somehow a
sense of magic at hand, and yet
somehow there must be a reason
to it all. a scientific process that
always begets the same results after
following a specific pattern of events.
the snow will always melt with the touch
of warm air. the birdsong will always
bring a sense of relief for the return of
Spring. and the lovebirds will rejoice
after surviving the long Winter, nuzzling up
to the love that kept them warm.