Slipped Chain

Convulsive commotion
Beneath a mesh canopy
Intended to keep
You away from plump
Purple bunches
Of in utero wine
Instead have trapped
Your pounding breast
Within

A succulent cell
Possibly worthy
Of clipped wings
Were it not for
The dogged hawk
And her impotent efforts
To set you free

Not a relationship
For man’s hand
But with the hunter
Not understanding
Why its tools
Fail to find purchase
And you
Having to experience
That blood rush
Of certain doom
Only to be left
Still flapping
The system feels
Somehow marred

With all of our
Instincts betrayed
And being
Unable to witness
The awkward
Sterile exchange
I drive the raptor back
And lift the net
So the two might continue
Their natural choreography
Unhindered