Searching for a familiar face amongst dozen on the street
I see none.
Waiting for the tell-tale tingling and churning of the stomach that let’s me know that the arrival is imminent
I feel none.
Deep tightly coiled bile sits on the caves of the stomach
Waiting for the moment when it shall vomit itself unceremoniously into the stage of the world
None comes.
Hot dry throat parched waits upon the saliva that will be its emollient to oil the pipes
The reflex does not produce saliva
instead
hot bitter bile makes its entrance marching to a whirlwind of a storm inside and out
it caves seeking refuge
Finding none.
Life in motion 