A poem by Shelly Moore
If our soul is the battery,
From which our bodies attain energy,
Just as songs are only words before claiming unique melody,
It stands to reason, essentially,
When we need to recharge, imperatively,
We seek a block and cord subconsciously,
To plug into our own source of security.
Whether it be spending time with family,
Or a head lain upon a man’s chest securely,
Or fingers gently tousling her perfect curls delicately,
Or conversing with your friends unabashedly,
We’re refueling one another surreptitiously.