Be thankful that you are imperfect
as perfection would spell your very doom.

The perfected self has nothing else to look forward to
and perishes in its isolation,  monotony and boredom.

Did I touch you as I left?
That night of beer and music
Almost tipsy,
laughing good-byes

Backing into blindly
I felt an arm... a moment
guide me
before I all but fall
against you
Knew that warmth
of mass was male

You exhale
I sense your being--
behind
Amused
By accidental intimacy
I come unglued
By your flirtatious
catch of eyes
in lowered light
By faint fragrance
of whatever it is
you've drunk or used
to put yourself together

Turning
guarded
Apologize
glancing down


Women always look, though
however briefly

there's no such thing as a uninjured soldier

We all come back with some type of scar

Whether it's physical are mental

it's not always so obvious to see right where they are

our job is not for the faint-hearted

there were decisions that were made

some stories would never be shared

just know that history was changed

while fancy speeches are given and politeness is practice

those who are in power look to us to have an eye on the factions

those who operate in the Shadows are always aware

that there are only a few

that standing inbetween success and

failure knowing the odds and still

choosing to be there