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Piles Of Half-shells

while watching and we all have
and all will
why do most deny it.
weather it is this or that.
climbing trees untill the
very tops
even if the vines
around it
take you out of your way
you feel it in the tree
right before.
even if the first few climbs
result in
and or catch you off guard.
tree or vine symbiotic
host or hostess
one or the other as the
fingers clutch
at each nook and cranny.
some times forcing an early
retirement.
and then some one, any one
perhaps even myself
seeing
the tightness
right over head we move up
towards it
as it opens and closes, back
and forth up and down.
open at the juncture of the half
shell
one appreciates,
the gravity of technique needed
to split them apart.
where equal and opposite each
contraction
makes gravity work for you
instead of against you.
and generally it doesn't take to long
for a pile of half-shells
to accumulate at the bottom
of each tree.
it is a simple matter of repacking
each parachute
that in their hast to retreat
left no room for discourse
and consequently
left a little pink around the rear.

poem by Is It Poetry
Added by Poetry Lover
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