Inburst

I stared into your eyes like their grip would never give up
and those seas of adventure and excitement
would never pour out onto the stained sofas and wizened nudity
surrounding us, impounding us.
What good are hind legs, mongrel; lady,
if you cannot scratch them? See through them?
Once more I would like to be unstained as I was at the start,
trailing in shyly with my petticoats licking my heels
and asking if I could be permitted to stand alone.
Oh how wrong I was to trust my singular judgements,
all of them stacked up, filed away in my intense cabinet mind
which ached, so ached, to be it's mother.