that’s a wild animal.
He doesn’t care that you think it’s cute.

Don’t touch him.
He is on fire in hot
                                                  pursuit
of suitor, taming
of the tamer
of cold sharp breaths
of air
of the polluter’s diluted self, aware


And, so, where are you when I am scared
or (alone)
((skeletal))
(((in need of repair)))?

lacking in tenderness while half-listening—doe-eyed—wanderous—confidently—
“Despair is a feral thing”
You set it

to the choral whispers of rotting,
on a golden-forest bedful of debris.