Wednesday, 24 July 2013

Wounded Warriors

War's over.
A batallion of Wounded Warriors - prowling lupine smoking carnivores.  They meet at the intersection of pleasure / perversion where the next item on the menu gives way to hungry eyes and empty bellies. Depraved and wild with meaningless experiences.
Always seeking a thrill. I am not she...
Do new experiences make life worth living or are you just occupying some meanwhile space?
Where did all the men who have presence go, or did they ever exist? Is it some distant half remembered fairy tale? Eyes the colour of a high, noon sky and mist, pools of troubled consternation and doubt are grazed with desire and longing.
I can't save you. I can't reach you. My  courage is wholehearted.  I have the chutzpah to take a walk in your world but I love what I have, this studied safety I've sought for half a lifetime. Shall I bring you closer to me as you look inward? Shall I leave you to roam the plain and the pain and set you free?
You're fast asleep as I write this.  Giant in my bed,  how you make my space yours and how comfortable you are out of your bickering west London village. Here you can breathe out, you tell me.
The walls around your shrouded heart, keep me at bay and let me in. Love is fluid like water  cascading the tower of razor wire in the heat of the cruel July sun. Cooling.
Friendship crosses boundaries into another country.
Let's stay here a while.

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