Box Number

My last few weeks have quietly been
taken by a rising tension,
shielding me from relaxation,
stealing sleep from weekend days.

A lover lost, which seems to feed
my insecure apprehension.
A new job, where, to settle in some
is beyond my working haze.

I’m 28, a bloke whose seen
less of loving’s dreamt attention
than belongs to male pretension.
I need to catch a woman’s gaze.


setting
from walkful thoughts

poem

86-87

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