Flogged Monkey

How I yearn for her arms like sheets of silk and a chest to lie upon

Like a cushion of time to hold her like cotton stitched in a towel of time

To wash away this insecurity of partiality of where the real me begins and the version

I must retort in courts of externally imposed postponed verbalization

Accuse me of being. 

To trust like a treasure trove of crystal-laced words

Of love and concern, reciprocal and symmetrical fragile and held in care

So unsure if that place will ever exist but in my own hope

And such fear of a vapid landscape to explore like a wanderer into a shadowed moor

Of crag and murk with soaked steps of regret knowing the banshee behind the shawl

With all her misplaced aggression, like I am some cursed monstrosity bellowing

At the nadir of our private moments a rage and a demand on our everyday

That her perception berates me into submission like a flogged monkey taught to fetch her playthings like prismatic chandeliers and white-painted porches with this canyon moat

To guard my entry from infecting their beauty. 

Back in the cage, and we will all be silent dictated from prissy privileged positions