My Dear Man

bluster of opinion

rustles not the feathers

that she has earned

tethered to the inflated heart

balloon strings

plumb lines

chordea tendineae

sealing virtue

like the staple bent

into a carpet loop

by the crush

of slumbering treads

limpet survives

by closing off

the tender side

foot pounds

a discarded unit

stripping bare

the unaware

higher to maintain

is not the woman

you think you know

but your inner hen

we struggle to befriend

.

– M.G. Iannucci 2018

Man seeks in woman, the world, and a reconnection with his soul.

Art: Helen Hid Bird by Lisa Fifield

2 thoughts on “My Dear Man

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