Wild

She was domesticated, those days
dinners on time
and television by his side

now she's wild
as cliffs
half descended into the sea
exposing
raw and rocky jagged
insides
sprouting mad and tangled
hardy species
that flower, if you're lucky.

Wide eyed as one
newly born
into a world of waking up at midnight
saying yes and yes and yes
dancing with devils
dutch courage
we're dynamite
combined
already part water
each of us our own type of acidic
at the right temperature
explosions
if you're precise;
you've got to be precise,
it's science.

Whirling dervish of destruction
spilt drinks ,
rips and cuts and splinters
for each other we will walk on fire
on air
we disappear
we are a reflection of our former selves
the mirror's image
that takes the imperfections of the glass
steam and streaks
we can write new names across our faces.

If you slip back through time,
to where it was warm and safe and dry
you can here the cry
of one domesticated,
longing to be wild.

(I wrote this ages ago, which seems important to mention, though it may not mean anything to you).