In color, a synesthetic flurry
Lurks behind the fury of our lives, warm
Like a woman who has never been touched,
Raw as the roots that feed on human blood.
Is there something in red heat that all crave?
Some elemental truth long neglected,
Like a tree bent by grey, furious wind?
It is not satisfying to call lust
By any lower (and less sinful) name:
Can any primal thing be trapped by words?
Leopards in zoo cages are violence
Within the world. If they were of the gods
They would not find their ends in manacles,
But a slave's life is more than iron bars.
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