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 E-MAIL BACK