Feeling a litle world weary,
by John Tansey
Tired of the tactile
The coy and flirtatious ploy of it all.
I walk around on all fours.
Attired in the conductof courtesies,
Muzzling the shushed yelp of my anima,
That is restrained, soulfully, alone,
Behind the smiles of soft skin and bone.
Though our finger tips touch,
They no longer sense…
Sex alone is not enough
For what passion the heart lusts after.
As we are both born and die alone,
Thus must we be sentenced for life.
Like the tinged blood cell, setting as the sun, itself
Into the marrow of the bone.
I lay, fearful, In the dark, within this body
Waiting for the union of flesh and soul.
Here, in the membraned dark
Of God’s ethereal omnipotence.