Ring around the rosey, Part I

I

Circumscribing this feeling is possibly the most difficult thing I'm asked to do.  It starts from the chest.  Not the heart.  not the lungs.  Just behind it; beneath it.  It presses down and has this heavy yet fleeting quality to it.  It's the same feeling of,

feeling compassion when nobody else around you feels it.

Because it feels like everyone knows of it, sees it from the corner of their eyes but refuses to acknowledge it.  It's that feeling you get when you stare it down and it stares directly back, not in combat but, in submission of the same feeling

that you might share, but you don't know you share.

There is the day after when you think that it has become mild.  The tepid clamminess of both fog and feigned ignorance of the significance of what had happened 

-just the other night.

File it away and push it into your subconscious for another day.

It shouldn't matter now.  It can't matter now.

But as the day wears the sheath thins and exposes the buffer that is in between you and the world that was before this foggy education.  It clamours to be known and you explore it with your every being.  Cast away this heredity.

I want to know me through you.  I want to experience you slowly, sensually from the facets that become round

Unexplainable surfaces synchronize to find a calming understanding of one another.  But this feeling doesn't go away, because it only seeps with more confusion of the next day and the next and the next and the next and the next

and the next.

Until we discover that this is mutually experienced; and exclusive.

This channel finds no water too cutting;

because I will never meander from circumscribing this feeling.