I passed by the bus stop I travelled to
frequently a while back.
Nay.
some time back.
the times of sweet nothings.
loving caresses, palm upon palm.
Then it strikes me.
Am I like a lone wolf howling at the moon
Or a dog pining for a lost flame.
Nay.
Who then is the creature in the mirror.
Heaps of sores upon its body.
Its gender remains a mystery.
Does our inner person need sex?
it snorts and hot air steams out
and those around cough, sneeze and wheeze.
