wolf of the flesh

 
it begins in my eyes, when I see the arousing vision  
of a woman, when I read the loneliness, the desire to  
be caressed, to be fornicated, in her poetry.  
 
and so it was with you. your highly stylized verse, romantic,  
metaphorical, the enchanting voice of otherwhere. so  
unlike my coarse tales of street hustlers & drifters. your  
lyrics were endowed with elusive celestial beauty, but the  
passion was there; it engaged with mine, & we were drawn  
together, to our own hidden garden of intimacy.  
 
but I am too much a wanderer, I hunt for the most alluring  
feminine flowers & pick them without remorse. they are so  
lovely, so alone, that they invite my salacious advances &  
satisfy my primitive nature in their gratitude.  
 
‘faithful.’ the word, the concept, is foreign to me, & I’m poor  
at concealing my scandalous perfidy. we’ve declared our love  
for each other, & your love over-fills me. but ‘lovers’ – that’s  
an entirely different craving…  
 
you discovered me exploiting poems that hinted of porn, in a  
conspiracy with a well-written woman here in the underground, &  
you knew we were engaged in an affair of private lust-notes. you  
screamed from the center of your heart when you confronted me:  
‘maybe I should just lick your ass while you fuck her!’  
 
when I ponder it, I wonder, did you cry?  
 
if you want me to vacate your heart, abandon the home you once  
gave me when you found a use for me, I will do so graciously.  
 
just wanted to speak my own truth…