The Wild


I once loved a man
with a Wolf in his eyes.
He was born to the wild,
independence was his deliverance.
Restless –Β  even in slumber,
his soul perpetually wandering.
I could never hold him
with my solid and sure existence,
with my comforts and closets.
When I clutched too tightly
he turned, snarling,
frantic as thoughts of escape
clawed at his fierce, free heart.
Biting with his kisses,
bruising with his touch.
But then, in the voice of severed ties,
he reassured me, softly and sweetly –
while all the time in his wild eyes
freedom burned and flickered.

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5 thoughts on “The Wild

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