Untitled 
     By Mike Talbert
      
           

Some scars can be tattoos
of pains dimly recalled;
they can be gently kissed
and afterwards ignored.
             

Hers are the gelid tumors
closing around her heart,
clogging ducts from the soul
where all the passion's stored.
              

Dammed, Damned to be a boy
in a womans body,
untouchable, guilty,
leaving two to feel flawed.
              

She cannot reverse the poles
from the tundra created
in a child's white flesh
where a polar bear has clawed.
             

The harlequin, a fool
with a teen's reckless heed,
dares try to raze the floe
which frozen lover's fled.
              

With brush, touch 
and gentle sounds
that coax wild kittens home,
he tries to  raise the flow
that whets a lover's bed.
              

An errant's quest for trust:
in vanity, he picks
at the icy, brutal clot
to break what terror feeds.
             

He believes smells, fluids,
the rutting drives of lust, and
lover's words must and will
ignite her woman's needs.
              

She answers quietly
with mothers' words and tears;
the compassion from her lips
scars him when he hears.
           
            

       copyright 1997 by Mike Talbert


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