Never not valiant at first.
Your declarations feel
mighty as you take a bruised love into your mind.
Heel in wait with impaired eyes—
you sell as wounded—
smelling your paramour fleshy
with discord and doubt.
She threatens to fall into your jowls,
supple with suffering, ripe with rapture;
you just need a boa's patience
and a poacher's heart.
The problem is that you are no predator.
Only a toothless scavenger
who confuses low-hanging fruit with
the toils, failings and ecstasies
of feral devotion on the burning plain.
Hire Daniel Bystedt [L&R].