The lamb communes without reserve, blood of hosts let to run a scarlet red.

I am itchy always.  My skin feels ajar, and my hairs tickle my pores.  I am ablaze; the life stream shrieks on contact, erupting as steam into air.

My demeanor is rosily cordial, and my countenance meek like steel; I know my sign intimately, for I keep it everywhere.  

I worry often.  I am not doing enough. I made someone feel bad.  People are always watching and talking about me.

Without judgement.

Diamonds pour from my fists, jewels forged under primordial pressure.  I carry this molten chalice by the dawn of light, still further into the tide of this dark night. 🌹