wild life, a new story in the works

susurrous slides under my window
the hissing of traffic below
like a shouder to cry on
though I am not unhappy
the sound I rely on
in the late night scrappy
i’m writing a story behind my window
a man lost to pleasure
a character you’ll defend though
no matter his sins or his
untouchable valor
he is mine in the story
to be yours as the reader
we won’t part until it’s clear
that his story is told
in his own words, while the author holds…