They were bound by the children
When one spoke
the other wouldn't listen
They were punch-bags for their dark sides
Pent up animosity they nurtured like step children
and so they communicated
He breathed fire
She hissed scorn
Where ground was not gained
no love was lost
since their first born
Each gnawing the other's tail
He grew fat
she pale
No more the spring chickens
that roared with sexual passions
in shadows
under trees
in toilets
in cafes
where a hand slid onto a tingling crutch
set the tone of touch
Those fiery lovers don't exist;
as such
Still
They were bond by the children
who know their embrace
An outlet for their affections
given time and space
Where tenderness tingles
and touch matures
and smiles deeply blossom
where scorn needs a cure
But kids are for life
they had no idea back then
that they would drift towards opposing worlds
One of women
One of men
Which
when the children tired them
which was happening more and more
would raise their heads like Medusa dreads
and they'd passionately roar
For once, they were bound by a transient belief
a superficial ceremony
nod from a priest
wherever together
for better/worse
they feel at home
bound by the children
who now are duely bound
by children of their own
Oh blessed assurety
for they had this thing
where cocooned in an acceptance of doom
they behaver like boxers in a ring
where rules and civiliarity made recreation of their demise
Their handwaving and exhilaration
supplied their age group's excercise
See they were bound by guilt
within that matrimonial jail
of how they felt as animals
behind the common veil
His blazer
her dress
the smiles they worked for friends
Though anyone who saw them once
would recognise the trend
roaring
intense
passionate
unsaid
Without sticks and stones they persevered to make words hit that hard
Now bound in lust of love and hate
with spawn as playing cards
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