'It's only a matter of time,'
You said casually with the grace
Of someone who doesn't beg for listeners
Or begging for listeners, yearns quietly
With the practiced ease of a fierce conversationalist
Knowing your audience, fluttering eyelids
Smirking wryly, precisely
You brought up the tropes of my character
Fun-sized chunks of my personality:
Things I prefer - you proffer knowingly
And gauging the halting skid of my pupils
As they race and dance in the heat of relation
You apply just enough pressure
on bruised skin, to feel a surge of life again
And for people of my brood - Brothers in arms,
men/women/gender dissociates - That surge
becomes a hobby, rehearsed silently and meted out
In facsimiles of prior restraint
Then blushing with the vivacity and unfettered vigor
Of a mutt caught in the act
I tumble forward; Plunging headlong into my private regime
A jihad of such minute proportions
That ripples of struggle and aftershocks of conflicted being
Pool bitterly and stubbornly
Festoons of bygone humanity
The crisping lotus of a younger me
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