Day 22

In set seclusion I tender ride, behind the snarling engine's roar,
In weathered past I bled inside and put behind that was before.
As the stubborn freight grinds with its weight the strained coupling's clasp
It tries for might to stem the fright of slipping anguished grasp.

It moves, I go, no flight be made to cut the pass of each strong tie
And if in solo pleasure plays a wordless song in guilt's lanai,
Then must I reach for outer souls not trapped inside this tent of skin
And hope their calloused, cautious hands will find some tenderness within.

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