Libido

Unleashed, it roams like a great, grieving dog,
yellowed with age.  It clatters down, eyes those
who approach and warns them away.  I know

when it's had its full of grief and murmur that I
am its owner again. It trots, slow beside me,
backward glances.  Nudges my hand, before it runs

charging a squirrel up a tree.  I can chain it
and it will strain, whimpering for my bed, or let it roam,
be torn to shreds, free to sing the sweetest songs.
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