In our unending ambition to
Hold, fret and keep,
Worry over, guard and to lie of desire
I lose you to another twat’s selfish juice
That holds his loins to the consuming fire.
Like my palm — this road:
Its paths are etched there by nature.
Maybe my life is leading where it’s going,
Like I hope this road I’m taking does.
There’s only one simple way of knowing.
All that you need is maturity
And with it comes wisdom and age
To hold your substance straight against all taunt.
The easier way, of course, is, for better than for worse,
Between you and the rest, the woman that you want.