Faux Pas

He wondered himself,
if he would ever return

He had many mistakes,
added to the checklist

His senses confused and aroused
- choosing to lose himself
in the rush of ribald fantasies
to nurture the destruction
of his scattered life

Quickly thrown into boxes,
a few belongings
and that incessant need
to feel human comfort

Enforced isolation,
the new reality.

He hid for some time,
his passions spurting out
with little substance
or sustenance

the craving of her parted legs,
haunted him
never feeling full
until his tongue
could glide across
the split

But his errors,
collecting like a tally,
was the guarantee
that it was only a past

And perhaps,
the loneliness
might one day
be his greatest teacher.