Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Naturalised Security

Search for her,
for that touch, softness;
signs for not being in the
wild yet; not yet.

The insecure kid ran,
awake to a setting sun, for her;
whose breasts made him
the man who can bleed.

The insecure man,
lost in a water world
of sarcasm, did turn;
but to nowhere?

In the days of second chances,
he had a womb.
Now, in nights of corrigenda,
he cries and runs, a static flight.

That summer his tears,
wiped by the Donna
in the room across,
she was cooking stew.

This winter he called,
answered by an angel
in the cellular grid across town,
she was brewing love.

The caress, a naturalised sibling;
a sign - the cliched half full glass.
He's in a new city, not in the
wild yet; not yet.

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