Suspending, suspended high above.

Inside the pot, you rise so tall as the view stretches.

Nipped so fierce is the unforgiving embrace

Of that shapely sharp cup. A hug too stiff — your seat is fated.

The soft spherical slight skin gleams pure ivory,

Your freckles tinted majestic dust, sifted from the great Amethyst.

The school of milky bodies blooms aloft, strutting about in their own charms.

The bland grimly green of your groggy toes sprout beneath,

Grasping for a waft of breath amidst foreign air.

Through that, all survive. Grotesque as they are, all survive.

The mauve sheath seizes the witnessed eyes.

The verdant hoofs, though they scavenge — malnourished with sights.

Yet, in the pot, you perch high, revered, athirst — Violet.