True Healing? Tires Squealing!

There's a bit of a procrastinator

In my fingertips,

And a bit of the Domme's whip hand

In my right-hand wrist.

My own hand's grip on a recent past

Tends to be sickly.

If it takes a year to learn what's next, the last

I forget quickly.

Overcoming is overtaking, leaving behind,

Just not being here.

I have never been bitter about things I can only

See in a mirror.

The Act of Love

To get some one-act play,

To come but once, and not to stay,

This is called “the act of love,”

Or so most folks would say.

Hear now, one of my theories:

Love is no act, but a series.

It's not rash, not impulsive,

Not like Venus and Ares.

A single act is only just

The province not of love, but lust.

In emotional beast-havior,

In instincts they trust.

Overstaying

It's said that if you're patient and you slowly heat the coils

A frog inside a pot won't know it's hot until it boils.

Am I a frog? Enthusiasm becomes duty and indifference.

I don't react when reluctance becomes truculence.

There's more to the world than wives' tales and proverbs,

and what's more, frogs, as most animals, have nerves.

I, too, can tell when I'm fed up with this.

I just rarely care enough to notice.