Her: All men are nothing but dogs!

Him: Yes, indeed… but have you ever pondered the breed of each man? Some are fiercely loyal, others stand as protectors, a few are brash and aggressive, while some are merely oversized infants. You get the stubborn ones, the overly playful bunch, or grumpy ones. And then, there are those wretched few who tarnish our reputation, who just love to **** all over on your pristine carpet.

All men are indeed dogs, just depends on the one you got.

Why do we, the humans whose veins resemble rivers and the texture of leaves, whose eyes resemble the prettiest oceans, whose fingerprints resemble the rings of trees, whose skin resembles bork and whose lungs resemble the forest, think that we are better and worthier than the nature around us?

There are two kinds of creatures in this life;

the most attractive creature, is a man mindful of your feelings:
considerate of your emotions, making you feel truly valued,
and respected— who listens attentively to your thoughts,
and concerns but also responds with genuine care, and
understanding.

And the dumbest creature, is a man who instead thinks
with his second brain: not much thought needed there.

Manicure the landscapes of my gaze – a far-off forest whispers
sweet nothings before a lover fades into memory – growing
weary; the taste turns bitter, like rising *****. Lingering sweetness;
the flavour of honey clings to my lips, a hive buzzing with our
fantasies woven in dreams – yet this imagination comes tethered
to a swarm of bees.

A television muse; she’s a show looping in my thoughts,
preying on my moments, I’m praying pretending to be
faithful, my hands are little more faithful than I was to you,
never keeping you in focus.

We must have believed we were creases, yearning to love
beyond the inevitable wrinkles – beautiful, flawed beings;
yet even a beast knows it must seek another to thrive.

How humans are so vile.

What we humans are

is nothing, what we desire --


is all that matters.

how sick the mirrors are    of visiting our dumb faces
how weary the door is    of being bolted for our precious privacy
how dreary are our voices  to the walls
          as they are trounced  by our mad surly language ?
are the beds exhausted absorbing our stains ?
are the chairs knackered enduring our strain ?

how burdened are the tables by our taxes ?
how taxed are the windows projecting in ?
is the plumbing fatigued
          or the electric stressed ?
how geared up and fearful are the stairs
           as we begin our ascent ?
how bent out of shape is the ovens mood
           to bloat with heat and then cook our food ?

the engines of our house are in order
though  they must consider their efforts wasted
                     maintaining our bewildering lifestyle