Rejuvenation

Like empty calories, all emotions aren't alimentative.
Longueur soaks through my passage. With imaginary
pompoms, I stand by my side, applauding its apopemptic
moves. In the scriptorium of mind, I seal our story, long
and short of my injury, my embrocation. Half-heard
noises take shelter in my solitude to create the nectar
of neighborliness. In such a frame, I find my fulcrum.