mud?
what about mud?
other than being one of the softest most delicately intricate ways to be one with the earth, while covered in brown from the hair down.
mud, of soils and floods, mixed royals and bloods, seals life or duds in darkening quiet thuds.
in all of that mud gives so much love, unknowingly snubbed, trudged and misjudged, but certainly beneficial, for the wounded cicatricial or even as one initial form of play.
mud is gay.
mud is home for the lost, prone to cover with moss them who so desire, putting out fires and spreading choirs of worms; new vermin with germs run rife.
what about mud isn’t life?