BETTY, MY DEAR

You must tell me
if you really want me
to stop;
if it hurts
too much;
if you want
a tourniquet applied
where a torrent of words flow;
if you want to save
our minds
or our hearts?

The beasts
are in the
forests where
the prisoners
are hunted.
I would give them quarter
if I had change
of a dollar.

Instead,
I offer you safety
nestled
in a madman's glance.
You know,
of course,
I'm lying.

Come closer.
Yes, whisper.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016