Classic Poem

In daytime hours
guided by instincts that never sleep,
the faintest signals come to me
over vast spaces
of etiquette and restraint.
Sometimes I give in
to the pressing call of instinct,
knowing the code of my kind
better than I know
the National Anthem
or the Lord's Prayer.
I am so driven by my senses
to abandon restraint,
to seek pure pleasure
through every pore.
I want to smell the air around me
thickly scented
with a playboy's freedom.
I want impractical relationships.
I want buddies and partners,
names I will forget by sunrise.
I don't want to commit my heart.
I only want to feel good.
I only want to freak sometimes.

There are no other considerations.
A false safety
compels me to think
I will never need kindness,
so I don't recognize
that need in someone else.
But it concerns me,
going off to sleep and awakening
throbbing with wants —
that I am being consumed by want.
And I wonder where stamina comes from
to search all night until my footsteps
ring awake the sparrows,
and I go home, ghost walking,
driven indoors to rest
my hunters guise,
to love myself as fiercely
as I have in better days.